Unshaken by the Darkness, Book Two: Lights in the Shadow
by Herebedragons66
Summary: Rhianna's duty weighed heavily in the year she turned eighteen, when she was promised to a king, rather than the man she loved. Now, as she comes of age, a blight threatens to destroy her homeland, and her life will take a turn she never expected. Sequel to Unshaken by the Darkness: The Teyrn's Lovely Daughter. Follows and expands on canon events; AU in some ways. All origins.
1. Prologue

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For ages upon ages, he had slumbered.

Beneath tons of rock, in complete darkness, he slumbered.

After so very many years, he could barely remember how he had come to be trapped inside the earth. There was an impression of laughter, and agonizing pain, and then he could no longer stretch his wings, no longer feel wind upon his scales. He was enveloped by smells of sulfur and iron and the occasional whiff of something sharper. Something cold and intoxicating: the iridescent blue ore that snaked through the stone, though none broke through the walls of his prison. There was only darkness, and rock, and a faint pulse of music all around him. Or perhaps the music – just a single line of melody - came from within.

So he slumbered, and he dreamt, and in his dreams he relived memories, and flew even though his body was trapped. He saw mountains and rivers and the bright strip of sand along the shores of the sea. He saw the sun glint off his daughter's shining scales, as she made her first flight from a tall, chalky white cliff. He saw the mosaic of landscape below him: cities and farm fields, with bright blue rivers meandering through.

In his dreams, he banked on a current of wind, felt the sun warm his hide. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, and heard his mate return the greeting. He felt his teeth sink into the tender flesh of his prey, and tasted its blood. Everything he touched was made beautiful, with color and with song and with magic. He soared above the world, triumphant, occasionally descending to accept the offerings that were made by the tiny creatures who cringed at his feet, or who lifted their faces to him in awe. He was worshipped and hated and loved and feared.

Through it all, he sang the song of his ancestors in harmony with his brothers and sisters. The soaring, tender, magnificent song of dragonkind. The song that even now he continued to hum, though it sounded weak and broken with just a single part.

From time to time, he awoke, trapped and helpless, and the things he remembered only caused a yearning inside him, a yearning that threatened to break him, to shatter his mind and his heart and his soul.

So, instead, he slumbered.

After countless generations, the profound darkness robbed him of even his dreams. No longer could he see the faces of those he had loved, or remember their scent in his nostrils. No longer could he hear in his mind the melody chanted by the priests in his temple, a song that was merely a shadow of the majesty of dragonsong, but which cheered him, nonetheless, for its earnestness. The sunlit sky, and the stars twinkling overhead, were lost to him. Even his dreams became dark and blurry, full of shadows and impressions and things glimpsed in passing.

Still, he slumbered.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed. Then, something tickled at him, something that came out of the darkness, came through it.

Sounds were the first things to come into his awareness. They entered his dreams, chittering and scratching, and then voices that grunted and growled in a mindless frenzy. They drew nearer and nearer, and echoed in the closeness of the chamber where he had been imprisoned for so very long. Then there were new smells, as well. Blood and ash and something darker. Something too sweet, like rotting fruit.

After so long in isolation, the sensations overwhelmed him. They haunted and mesmerized him, until finally the rock at his shoulder crumbled, and a breath of wind blew against his cheek. A single voice rose above the howls, a voice that didn't gibber mindlessly, but that spoke with a cadence too lyrical to be anything other than language, even though his tormented mind could not understand its meaning.

An unholy stench filled his nostrils, and then a horrible taste upon his tongue – of copper and ash and blue rock and despair – and he tried to recoil, but had nowhere to go, and then, like a tendril of root burrowing into his body, he felt it. A darkness that was slick and black and oily. That clung to him like algae on rock. A darkness that spread through him, corrupting all it touched. It sang to him, and left him both numb and ablaze with cold fire. It seeped through his skin and muscle and sinew, all the way into his bones. It made him want to claw off his skin, to rip and shred his own flesh. It made him want to roar and breath fire.

It made him want to stretch his wings and fly.

Flashes of memory haunted him – the curve of a wing in flight, temple incense, gleaming sunlight on water – but then, the memories began to fade. He tried to chase them, to grab hold of them, but they slipped away like water through his claws.

He tried to sing, but there was only an agonized roar as his mind no longer remembered the song, the song he learned before he had even hatched from his egg. The song he had sung every day of his life, and had hummed in his sleep for so long. This, too, he tried to grasp, but the melody twisted, the notes grew discordant and hollow, and the ends of the phrases failed to resolve. Instead of bringing peace, he was left aching in nothingness, disconnected from all he had ever been.

Frantic, he stretched one huge clawed foot and scratched at the place where the creatures had come through, began to widen the opening, began to tunnel his way out of this darkness. With each stroke, his pace increased, and he took no care with where he placed his claws. Only vaguely was he aware of the squeals and shrieks of the creatures who moved too slowly to avoid being impaled or shredded. The howls of those who were trapped with nowhere to retreat, and were crushed by the passage of his body.

He clawed his way through the rock until he found himself in open air. Not under the sky, but in a cavern whose walls stretched so high the ceiling was shrouded in shadow. Exhausted and bloody from scraping his body across jagged rock, he crawled to a ledge, and had to squint at the brightness down below: stinking, burning hot lava, impossibly bright to eyes that had not seen so much as the light of a single candle for ages. It seared his vision, but also warmed his skin and soothed the aches in his muscles from having lain motionless for so long.

For the first time in ages upon ages, he stretched himself out to his full length. All around him, voices gibbered and whispered. He wanted to push them away, but he couldn't. Their stench maddened him, and he tried to remember how this had happened, what had brought him here, but nothing was clear. The burning that had spread through his body and destroyed his song had corrupted his thoughts as well. His mind raced, desperate to find a thread to cling to, something to bind him to his past, to who and what he had once been. But there was nothing for him to grasp. Nothing but these creatures that surrounded him, scuttling like vermin.

They came to him, more and more all the time, and he hated them, wanted to kill them all. Wanted to rip them apart, to crush them in his jaws, but he was compelled and intrigued by them as well. And connected to them. Always connected.

This time, when he slept, it was born of exhaustion, and a desire to be free of the noise and the terror, even if only for a few hours.

A new dream came to him, one that felt and smelled different than any he'd had before. He dreamt of a creature with green eyes and dark hair. A creature that walked on two legs, and had lived most of its life in the light, but still had streak of darkness running through it.

A girl. A human girl. Why would such a frail, puny, pathetic creature appear in his dreams?

Strange as it was to find her here, her visage - wavy and unclear as if viewed through flowing water – gave him a feeling of something he might have called hope, if he could have found the word in his ravaged mind. Something in her called to him, and he struggled against the darkness that coursed through his veins, through the taint that burned in his blood. He reached out toward her with his mind. Even as he fought to form words in some language she might be able to understand, he reached out, and gave just the lightest touch.

_Listen . . . _

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Rhianna sat up in bed, and gasped for breath.

Weight pressed down on her, tons of rock, and everything was dark, and sulfur burned in her nostrils. She clutched at the ground beneath her, and her fingers ached with the effort as the familiar panic began to pull at her. It pinched and grabbed at her chest and twisted her stomach into a knot. It left her unable to fill her lungs with air. She couldn't move, she was trapped, imprisoned in a place far too small for her to even stretch out her legs.

She sobbed, and panted, and the darkness shifted. Even as it surrounded her it became cooler, and blacker. It was all around her, closing in, and she had to get out. If only she could unlock the door . . . but she'd dropped the key, and it was cold, so cold.

_Loghain._ _Oh please! _

If only Loghain would come find her . . .

Her vision cleared, and the barest hint of light was visible: a dim glow of nearly dead coals in the hearth. Gradually, in the soft glow of moonlight that streamed in her window, other things came into view: her armor on its stand; the trunk in the corner; a copy of the Chant of Light on her bedside table.

She released her hold on the bedclothes, and was able to take a proper breath. She wasn't underground; she was in her bedroom in Highever. There was no rock above her, no endless darkness that wanted to consume her. She wasn't buried beneath the earth, nor was she locked away in a damp dungeon cell.

She took a deep breath, and then another, and another, and waited for the terror to subside.

Then, the words the Divine had spoken to her echoed in her mind.

_Surrounding you, so much darkness._

Darkness. She had always hated being in the dark.

It had been a long time since she'd dreamt of being trapped in the darkness, and had to claw her way back to consciousness. Years since she'd woken chilled and sweating, desperate to cry for help, but afraid of what might hear her if she made any sound. She thought she'd left these dreams behind.

Even as she waited for her heart to stop racing, a new fear took hold of her. The fear that this was not merely her old nightmares returning, but something new entirely.

The darkness and the cold were familiar, memories of being locked away in a dungeon cell. But other things were not. The weight of rock above her, and a pulse that beat steadily, like waves that pounded on the shore far away out of sight, or the slow beat of a heart. A scent that stung her nostrils and brought tears to her eyes, like ashes and overripe fruit.

A song, achingly beautiful, until the final notes turned sour.

Finally, a rasping voice, deep and resonant, not heard with her ears, but as if it spoke directly into her head. A voice whose words had been mostly unclear. _Listen_, it had said, but then there were only garbled syllables, harsh and hissing, empty of meaning. Nothing she could parse, nothing that sounded like any language she'd ever heard before.

Not until the last. The very last words still rang in her memory.

_Help me._

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_Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers: Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and AmandaKitswell. _

_Welcome, everyone, to Book Two!_

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	2. Let us not speak of ominous things

_Blessed are they who stand before  
__The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter  
__Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just__  
_

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow  
__In their blood, the Maker's will is written__  
_

- Benedictions 4:10 & 4:11

_**8 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**__**  
**_

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Perched atop the battlements of Highever Castle, Rhianna Cousland leaned back against a wall and allowed her eyes to close against the late morning sun as she listened to the preparations below. Shouted commands, booted feet on cobblestone, metal against metal as swords and shields were drawn and examined and put back again. The jangle of horses' tack and the thump of supplies being loaded onto carts.

The sounds of an army preparing to march off to war.

Later today, as soon as Rendon Howe arrived with his troops from Amaranthine, her father and brother would march out with the Highever Regulars, to join King Cailan and his armies at Ostagar, and fight the darkspawn horde that had massed in Korcari Wilds.

Rhianna, with an ache in her heart, would stay behind.

"I'm sure you'd more than prove yourself," her father had said, "But I am not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war. She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going."

It was understandable that Eleanor Cousland would not want her entire family to go into battle, but if only one of the children was to go, it should have been Rhianna. Not only was she was better with a sword than Fergus, but she was expendable. Fergus had a wife and son, and would someday inherit the teyrnir. There wasn't even a plan in place for Rhianna's future, not since her father had rejected Loghain's proposal in favor of an arrangement with King Cailan. An arrangement that had subsequently fallen apart, or so she hoped. As relieved as Rhianna was that she would probably not be forced to marry the king, it did mean she had no idea what she _would_ do instead. Marry the son of some bann or another, probably. Or perhaps return to Orlais, although that seemed like a very unlikely fantasy.

She had tried to convince her father to let her lead the army south, but he'd refused to consider her arguments. It was difficult not be angry. This was the main reason she had returned from Orlais earlier in the year, when she'd very much wanted to stay. She'd come back to fight the darkspawn, and defend her beloved homeland.

Now she wasn't being allowed to do even that, and she chafed at being left behind with a handful of soldiers to guard a castle that didn't need to be guarded.

So, as everyone else in the castle bustled to make final preparations for the march, Rhianna made herself scarce. No sense being down in the middle of everything, when she was not allowed to be a part of it.

New sounds rang out in the courtyard below: horses' hoof beats, and shouted greetings. Rhianna peered over the crenellated wall. Not far below her, the son of one of the grooms - a blond-haired boy of about eight years old - sat atop one of the buttresses that supported the castle walls. No doubt his mother would have screamed to see him up there, but he looked steady enough where he sat, so Rhianna didn't shout at him to climb down.

In the courtyard, a man dismounted from his horse. The guards who rode with him had the Amaranthine device on their shields, so surely it was Rendon Howe. But there were far too few soldiers. Was he accompanied by only his personal guard? Rhianna peered down the main road that approached from the east, and no soldiers waited there. The armies of Highever and Amaranthine were supposed to march out together today. So where were Howe's troops?

Her curiosity piqued, Rhianna hopped down from the wall and made her way downstairs. In the main courtyard, she spotted the captain of the Highever guard, a tall, solid woman with short, dark red hair, and fair skin with a smattering of freckles.

"Excuse me, Captain."

"Ah, good day, Lady Cousland." Ser Jana had been a member of the Regulars nearly as long as Rhianna could remember, and just last year had been named captain of the castle guard. She would remain here when the army marched out today, a thought Rhianna found comforting. Jana was an accomplished soldier, and a friend.

"Good day to you as well. Have you seen my father?"

"Yes, I believe he's with Arl Howe in the Great Hall."

"Thank you. So Arl Howe _is _here. But . . . have the Amaranthine troops arrived?"

She hesitated. "No, ser. They are not here, and I haven't heard any word yet about when they are expected."

"Hmnh." This was odd. "Thank you. I'll go see if I can find out what's happening."

When Rhianna arrived in the great hall, she found her father standing near the fire that blazed in the hearth along the far wall, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the flames.

"I trust then that your troops will arrive shortly?"

"I expect they will start arriving tonight," Howe replied, "and we can march tomorrow. I apologize for the delay, my lord." His voice was smooth and apologetic. "This is entirely my fault."

"No, no, Rendon," Bryce turned away from the fire, and waved Howe's words away. "There's no need for apology. The appearance of the darkspawn has us all scrambling, doesn't it? Even though we've known for months to expect this call from the king, it doesn't make it much easier to get everything together when the time comes." He let out a breath. "Well, I suppose I'll send Fergus off on schedule with the Highever troops, so they can get a head start. Then you and I will ride out tomorrow. It'll be just like the old days."

"True," Howe replied. "Though we both had less grey in our hair, then. And we fought Orlesians, not . . . monsters."

"At least the smell will be the same," Bryce chuckled. He noticed Rhianna, and smiled. "There you are, Pup. I'm glad you're here. I need you to take a message to Fergus for me."

"That you want him to march out with the Regulars without you?" she asked.

"You heard? Yes. Rendon's troops have been delayed, but I'm sure this is all for the best. No doubt it will be good for Fergus to get out from under my thumb, and it will give the message that he is the one leading our army, not me."

"That much is true." She hesitated. "But if you're not marching out with him, then I should. Fergus shouldn't have to do this on his own." That was a ridiculous argument; Fergus wouldn't be alone, and he was hardly some untested youth leaving home for the first time. But it was worth a try.

Of course, her father saw through it. "You are nothing if not determined," he chuckled, "but we've been through this before. I need you here." He came close, and put his hands on her shoulders. "This is no needless task, Rhianna. Only a token force will remain here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away. Now," he continued, "as I said, I need you to carry a message to Fergus, but there is someone I'd like you to greet before you go. An unexpected guest arrived a short while ago." He turned to one of the guards. "Will you show him in, please?"

The man saluted and left the hall.

"A guest?"

"You'll see soon enough," he said in response to the question she hadn't quite asked.

While they waited, she turned to the arl. "Hello, Arl Howe. It's good to see you."

"And I'm pleased to see you again, my dear." His tone sounded somewhat less than sincere, but that was hardly a surprise; the arl had never seemed fond of Rhianna.

"I trust the delay with your men is nothing serious?"

"No, of course not. Nothing serious, just poor weather. Their progress has been slow but it's nothing you need worry about."

"Poor weather? I thought you said the delay was your fault."

He gave her a pained smile. "It's just a . . . manner of speaking, my dear. If I had reinforced our border levies earlier, the troops could have left before the rains. I confess, my confidence in your father allowed me some complacency." He chuckled. "I guess that makes it as much his fault as mine. Thomas asked after you," he added before Rhianna could respond. "Perhaps I should bring him with me next time." He turned toward her father. "You know how it is. The young and their infatuations."

"Thomas?" What in the world was he talking about? Infatuations? "Bring him with you? To what end?"

"To what end, she says." Howe chuckled again, although it sounded forced. "And so glib, too. She's just like her mother when she talks like that."

"Thomas and I have never been what you would call friends," Rhianna replied. "I'm quite certain he shares my lack of enthusiasm for a match between us, if that's what you're getting at."

This was something of an understatement; Rhianna was fairly certain neither Thomas nor his father had forgiven her for breaking the boy's nose. Twice. The fact he'd deserved it both times seemed hardly to matter to either of them.

Before Howe could reply, the guard returned, and Rhianna's stomach lurched when she saw the identity of their unexpected guest.

"Rhianna," her father said. "'I'm sure you remember Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden?"

"Of course. Welcome to Highever, ser." She bowed a soldier's greeting, and mustered her friendliest smile to cover up her dismay.

When had he arrived? And why?

He bowed. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Cousland. And an honor to be a guest within your hall."

"Your lordship," Howe said smoothly. "You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

"Duncan arrived just this morning, unannounced," Bryce replied. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not. But a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am at a . . . disadvantage."

What was he talking about? Duncan's presence hardly put Howe at a disadvantage. If anyone had reason to worry, it was Rhianna. Duncan had already tried to recruit her into the Wardens once, and just being in the same room with him made her nervous. What if he decided to overrule her refusal, and invoke the Right of Conscription? By law, there was nothing that could stop him from doing that.

What if that was the reason he'd come?

She thought he'd given up on her the month before, when he'd attended the tournament held by her father. Rhianna had made herself as scarce as possible while he was here; the way Duncan looked at her made her nervous. She hadn't even competed in the tournament, for the first time in years. But he'd never sought her out, nor tried to talk to her about the Wardens. Instead, he'd recruited a red-haired knight who was originally from Redcliffe, and left again, and Rhianna assumed that was the end of it.

So why was he here now?

"What brings you to Highever, ser?" Rhianna asked. "I would have thought you and your Wardens would be occupied in the south."

"The Grey Wardens are needed in the south." He calmly met her gaze. "In fact, most of the Fereldan Wardens are already with King Cailan at Ostagar. I am making one final sweep for recruits before joining them. Thus far, I have only found a couple of worthy candidates in my travels, and we desperately need more people. Especially if we hope to stop this Blight before it really begins."

"I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore," her father said.

"Ser Gilmore is fine warrior and a good man," Rhianna commented. "I've no doubt he would be an asset to the Wardens. Should he wish to join."

"Yes, that is what your father said, as well." Duncan paused, but continued to hold Rhianna's gaze. "If I might be so bold, I would suggest yet again that you are also an excellent candidate, my lady."

Her breath caught in her throat, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Did he intend to conscript her? Was that really why he was here?

"Honor though that might be," her father said, as he stepped between Rhianna and the Warden commander, "this is my daughter we're talking about."

Duncan did not even glance at her father, but kept his eyes focused on Rhianna. "Ferelden has never been more in need of Wardens, and good ones." His eyes narrowed. "I intend no flattery when I say you show promise, Lady Cousland. You're a skilled warrior, and you've already fought darkspawn. Admirably. You know better than most what to expect. And your hound would be most welcome among us, as well."

"My answer is the same as the last time we discussed this, ser." Rhianna forced herself to speak calmly. "I have no desire to be a Grey Warden."

"Do you hear that Duncan?" Her father's voice was firm. "My daughter is not interested. So unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription . . ."

"Have no fear," Duncan replied, finally allowing his gaze to shift to Rhianna's father. "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue. I'm content to see what other candidates your castle offers."

What was it Duncan had said the first time she met him? That the Wardens couldn't risk alienating the nobility. That was the reason he hadn't conscripted her then: he feared the repercussions. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that she had said no.

Loghain had told her not to trust him. That still seemed like excellent advice.

"Just how many darkspawn are we talking about, anyway?" Howe asked, and for once - possibly the first time in her life - Rhianna was glad to hear him speak, as it drew Duncan's attention away from her.

"The horde has been assembled in the Korcari Wilds for some time now," Duncan replied. "There are thousands, ten thousand at least in this horde, in addition to smaller groups in other places. Fortunately, King Cailan took us at our word and marshaled Ferelden's forces quickly. The first battles have already been fought, but the rest of Ferelden must join in this effort if we are to defeat the threat before it spreads northward."

"Do you think that will be possible?" Rhianna asked. "To stop the darkspawn before they move farther north?"

"I hope so, milady. The king's armies have had success thus far. I understand the first battles have gone well."

"Indeed." Howe sounded skeptical. "Are the Grey Wardens sure this is even a blight, and not merely some large darkspawn raid?"

"No archdemon has yet been sighted above ground, my lord," Duncan answered, much as he had when Rhianna asked the same question in Orlais. "But with my entire soul, I believe this is a blight."

"I wish we shared your faith," Howe drawled. "I suppose we shall see for ourselves, once we arrive at the king's camp." He paused. "I've heard Cailan is a bit . . . enraptured with the Grey Warden legend, and that is why he caters to your order."

Rhianna felt her eyes grow wide. For a man who had been worried about "protocol" just a few minutes ago, Howe certainly wasn't making any effort to be polite to the Warden commander.

"Howe!" Her father's voice was stern. "That is unworthy of you."

"No, it's all right," Duncan said, with a wave of his hand. "He only repeats what he's heard from others. In any case, whatever the king's reasons, I am grateful for his support. The priority is defeating the darkspawn before they threaten all of Ferelden, and King Cailan had stepped up to the challenge admirably."

"Speaking of which," Bryce interjected, "we have some things to discuss before the Highever forces march out today. Pup, will you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course," she replied.

As long as Duncan doesn't request, for the third time, that she join the Maker-damned Wardens.

"Good. Now, go tell Fergus that I want him to leave today."

"All right," Rhianna agreed. "Do you know where Fergus is?"

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson."

She turned to Duncan. "I'm sure I'll see you soon, ser. In the meantime if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask anyone in the castle to find me."

As it would have been rude to ignore Howe completely, she turned to him as well. "The same is true for you, ser. If there is anything you need during your stay tonight, I'll be more than happy to see to it."

"I . . . I thank you." Howe sounded surprised, almost discomfited by her words. "That is quite . . . unnecessary."

"Nonetheless. Just let me know if there is anything you need."

Rhianna headed toward the family's quarters, a slight frown on her face. Something felt wrong about this. Howe's soldiers were delayed, and now Fergus would march out on his own? She really did wish she were going with him, and not just for her own sake. Not that she worried about her brother's competence, and surely he'd be safe - he would be traveling with the bulk of the Highland Regulars, after all.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she ought to be going with him.

Or perhaps it was just that she felt restless about remaining behind. She wasn't worried at all about managing the teyrnir; she knew the people here, and knew how things were supposed to work. Short of them being attacked - by Orlais or the Qunari or darkspawn - things would go smoothly.

Of course, no attack was going to happen. Which is why her mother should stay here and manage Highever, while Rhianna went south to fight the darkspawn. Staying here, watching over a peaceful teyrnir while a war was being fought in the south, was a waste of Rhianna's fighting skills.

Clearly, however, her parents did not agree, and in this Rhianna had no choice but to comply.

Fergus was easily located, in the room he shared with Oriana and Oren. Oriana's eyes were bloodshot and slightly puffy, but Oren was practically bouncing at the prospect of his father going off on a grand adventure.

"Is there really going to be a war, Papa? Will you bring me back a sword?"

"Yes," Fergus chuckled, "I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. And I'll be back before you know it."

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," Oriana said. "My heart is disquiet."

"Now, now, my love. There's no need to be so grim. You'll frighten the boy." Fergus turned at Rhianna's approach. "And here's my little sister to see me off. I wish you were coming with us, Elsie. It'd be fun fighting side by side for once."

"Believe me," Rhianna said. "I wish I were coming, too. But Father seems to think I'm needed here in the castle. Speaking of which, he sent me to tell you that you're to leave this afternoon. Without him and Arl Howe."

"What's this?" Fergus asked. "Then the arl's men _are_ delayed." He scoffed. "You'd think they were all walking backwards."

"Mama says you're going to watch over us while Papa is gone," Oren said. "Is that true, Auntie?"

"Yes, Pumpkin." Rhianna crouched down to look into her nephew's eyes. "It is indeed. So you and I are going to have some grand adventures together while your papa and mine are away."

"Perhaps dragons will attack the castle! That would be an adventure!"

"Dragons?" Rhianna laughed.

"Dragons are terrible creatures," Oriana said with a slight frown. "They eat people."

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "I want to see one!"

"Well," Rhianna began, "that would indeed be an adventure, but that's not exactly the sort of thing I had in mind. I thought we would take Dane into the woods and try to find interesting things. Maybe some squirrels, or birds we haven't seen before. Or snakes. You never know what we might find in the forest."

"That sounds like fun, too," he agreed. "Can we also do sword practice? I'm old enough to use a real one now, not just the wooden one King Cailan gave me. Will you teach me? Please? Then I can fight evil, too! Take _that_, dire bunny!" he cried, as he pretended to stab at something in front of him. "All darkspawn fear my sword of truthiness!"

"Sword of truthiness?" Rhianna lifted a brow, and glanced at Oriana and Fergus.

"We've been teaching him about honesty," Oriana said simply.

"Well, if we can get your mama to agree," Rhianna said, deliberately not making eye contact with Oriana, "I promise we'll start working with a real sword very soon. In fact, I have a feeling you're big enough now to wear the armor Teyrn Loghain had made for me when I was eight."

"Fergus," Oriana lamented, "there are times your family causes me great pain."

"Now, mind your mother, Oren," he chided as he scruffed the boy's hair. "And don't worry, son. You'll get to see a sword up close real soon. I promise." He paused. "I suppose I should get going, then, if we're to make it to the Imperial Highway before nightfall."

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to at least say goodbye before taking your leave?" The younger Couslands all turned toward the door, to see Bryce and Eleanor enter.

"Father," Rhianna chided jokingly. "What are you doing here? You could have delivered the message to Fergus yourself."

"And miss having both my children in one place before I leave? Not likely," he chuckled, and the family drew close for hugs and final good wishes.

‹›‹O›‹›

After the goodbyes to Fergus were made, and he left the castle at the head of the Highever Regulars, Rhianna wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She stopped in the chapel to say a prayer with Mother Mallol, and then played a few hands of Ruff and Honors with the guards stationed outside of the treasury room. After they'd soundly trounced her (she'd never been particularly good with card games), she visited the library, and talked with Brother Aldous, her old tutor, and a couple of cheeky young squires.

When she left the library, a red-haired knight approached. "My lady! There you are."

"Hello, Ser Gilmore. You've been looking for me?"

"Your mother sent me to find you," he replied in his usual gentle demeanor. "I'm afraid there is a bit of a situation . . . with your hound. Nan's threatening to quit."

"Nan is threatening to quit? What's this, the third time this week? You know as well as I do she won't really leave. She just likes to yell about things when she starts feeling overwhelmed. But . . . since you've come looking for me, I suppose this means Dane's gotten into the larder again?"

"Yes, milady. No matter how the servants try and keep him out, he always finds a way in, and Nan is convinced he's trying to steal the roast she intended for tonight's dinner. And no one else will dare go near him. He'll listen to you, but anyone else risks having an arm bitten off."

Rhianna lifted a brow. "Dane would never hurt anyone without good reason. But," she said, before Ser Gilmore could protest, "I will go and see what he's up to in there."

"My lady . . . before we go, might I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"I've heard from several people that a Grey Warden is here. And that perhaps he asked after me?"

"Are you hoping for it to be true? You sound somewhat excited."

"Awed, more like. The reputation of the Grey Wardens is unsurpassed. To become a Grey Warden would be . . . everything I ever dreamed of!"

"Everything? Your life here in Highever isn't satisfactory?" When the smile started to slip from his face, as though he feared he had truly offended her, she added, "I find it difficult to believe that anything could be more rewarding than continually chasing my dog out of the larder." She winked at him, and his smile returned. "At any rate, it is true. A Grey Warden is here: Duncan, the head of the order in Ferelden." She paused. "And he did say that he's considering you for recruitment."

"Maker's breath!" His eyes grew wide. "Can you imagine? Me, a Grey Warden? Of course, I shouldn't get ahead of myself."

"Ser Gilmore," she said, "I can't think of anyone more worthy of such an honor than you." Regardless of any doubts Rhianna had about the order, this clearly meant a lot to him; for his sake, she hoped Duncan would recruit him. "Of course that means you'll have to leave Highever. I'll miss you, you know."

Color bloomed on his cheeks. "Oh, my lady, that's very kind of you. I know it's not true, but it's kind of you to say all the same." Before she could respond, he continued, "We really should see to your dog. Shall I come with you to the kitchens?"

It turned out that Dane's interest in the larder wasn't thievery at all, but that he was on the trail of rats. A number of very large rats that Dane was in the process of dispatching when Rhianna and Ser Gilmore arrived. Afterwards, Nan continued to grumble - "I'll bet that bloody hound let those rats in there to begin with" - but then she gave him a handful of pork bits, a sure sign she wasn't truly angry.

With Dane at her side, Rhianna spoke for a few minutes with her mother, and some guests from River Dane: Lady Landra Blaydon and her son Dairren, along with Landra's elven lady-in-waiting. Landra seemed unusually sober for this late in the day, but even so, she commented about Rhianna's lack of a husband, and - not for the first time - offered an unsubtle reminder that Dairren was still unwed. He was a nice man, and handsome enough, but Rhianna had absolutely no romantic interest in him. So, she wrapped up the conversation as politely as possible, and went in search of something else to do.

This proved to be a challenge. It was as though Fergus' departure had sucked the life out of the castle. With only a handful of guards left behind, the hallways and courtyards were quieter than usual. Oriana and Oren were nowhere to be seen; they were probably in their quarters. Sometimes, Rhianna liked to spend her afternoons in the kitchen, listening to Nan tell stories, but the cook had seemed so flustered earlier, Rhianna didn't want to bother her. When Rhianna passed by the library, thinking to spend a bit more time there, she spotted Duncan browsing books along the back wall. It seemed a good idea to avoid the Warden commander as much as possible, so Rhianna had changed course once again. She didn't feel like weapons practice, and with guests in the castle, she couldn't exactly saddle up Faolan and go for a ride.

In the end, she decided to go up to her room and read a book, or perhaps even take a nap. She was tired, something that had become a pattern of late. Her sleep had been disturbed, more often than usual, by bad dreams. The sort of dreams she hadn't had in several years - dreams of being locked away in the dark, her childhood fear returning to plague her. And at least once, she'd dreamt of a dragon. An enormous dragon, and she had the impression it had tried to talk to her, but she couldn't remember what it said. Either way, some nights she woke up in a panic from her dreams, and in the morning felt hardly rested at all.

She'd try reading, though. If she napped now, she might sleep straight through dinner, and wake up disoriented in the middle of the night. She ran her fingers along the spines of the book on the shelf that held her favorites, hoping one would grab her attention. Some of her trinkets caught her eye: the carved wolf figurine she'd had for years, and the small statue of Andraste she'd bought a few months ago in Val Royeaux. The statue brought a smile to her face, but at the same time, she really didn't want to start thinking about her visit to Orlais, or about Gauvain, whom she had left behind.

A knock sounded on the door, and banished all other thoughts from her mind.

She answered it to find her father standing in the hall. "May I come in, Pup? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Of course." She stepped aside, and they sat together at the little table beside her bed. His eyes studied her face as a vague smile played at the corner of his mouth.

What was this about? Even with the smile, something about his expression looked . . . serious. Surely, he didn't have bad news, but whatever he wanted to say seemed not to come easily.

"Father? Is everything all right?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Of course. I . . . I just want you to know how very grateful I am for the past few months. That you and I managed to get back to . . . well, that we were able to get through the challenges of the past year. I know it was difficult for you, and I understand just how much you gave up to be a good daughter. A good Fereldan. You could have run off with Loghain. You could have stayed in Orlais. But you didn't."

"Oh." She felt heat behind her eyes, and willed any tears to be gone. "Thank you. I'm grateful, too." She didn't know what else to say, so she fell silent and waited for him to continue.

"Your mother and I have been talking. Really, we've been thinking about this for a long time, but I was never sure it was for the best. Not until now."

"I don't understand. What's for the best?"

A finger of cold trickled down her spine. It sounded as though her parents had made some big decision about her life. Oh Maker. What if it was about Cailan? Perhaps he still wanted to marry her. Or perhaps Cailan had written that he was no longer interested in marrying Rhianna at all, and her parents had decided on some other husband for her. Were they going to ask her to marry Thomas Howe? Or perhaps they wanted her to join the Grey Wardens. What if Duncan had said something that made them change their minds? Her stomach felt hollow and she struggled to keep the fear from showing on her face.

_Please, Andraste. Don't let it be something horrible. Please._

"It's about the teyrnir," her father replied. "I have decided to name you my heir, instead of Fergus. After I am . . . gone, you will be Teyrna of Highever."

"What?" Rhianna wasn't certain she'd heard him correctly. Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment, she couldn't take a breath. "I'm . . . I'm to inherit Highever?"

"Yes. Not for a great many years, I hope," he chuckled, "and there are still a few things to sort out before we make any official announcement. I need to speak with Fergus, and of course, the situation with Cailan needs to be settled. But this is what I want, for you and for the Coastlands. I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen while your brother and I are in the south. And I truly believe no one else could run this teyrnir better than you, after I am gone."

Maker's breath.

Her fear rushed away, replaced by . . . well, a lot of feelings. Excitement, yes. And joy. And pride. She would be Teyrna of Highever someday? Never again would she have to worry about her future. About where she would go, who she would marry. She could choose whomever she liked, or choose not to marry anyone at all.

And she loved this place, these people, and would care for them to the best of her ability, always.

"Say something, Pup. I trust this news pleases you?"

"Oh." She laughed. "Oh yes, Father. Yes. Of course. It pleases me very much. Thank you. I'm not really sure what to say, other than thank you." She paused. "But what about Fergus? I don't want him to be upset."

"Don't worry about Fergus. I'll talk to him when we get to Ostagar, after I've settled things with Cailan. If it's anything like the Rebellion, we'll have plenty of time between battles with nothing at all to do except sit and wait for the next attack. And to be honest I don't believe he'll be anything but happy. He never really wanted the teyrnir, - you know that as well as I do - and this will free him to do something else with his life. So, don't worry about your brother, Pup."

"And you're going to talk to Cailan?"

"Yes." He paused. "I intend to tell him that the arrangement between the two of you is no longer an option."

"What about Celene? Are you going to tell him you know he intends to marry her?"

"Yes. I think it would be a good idea to get everything out in the open. Tell him his plan to marry the empress is not feasible, and that the Landsmeet will never allow it. Ideally, I can convince him not to set Anora aside at all."

"And if he says he still wants to marry me?"

He hesitated. "I will tell him that's not going to happen. That you're going to inherit Highever instead. That's what would make you happiest, is it not? Rather than being forced to marry Cailan?"

She let out a relieved breath. "Yes. It is. Thank you." She laughed happily. "Thank you."

This was truly the best thing that had happened in months.

"For what it's worth," he began, "I do believe you will rule this teyrnir as well as anyone ever has, and you've earned the right to it, through your hard work over the years. I also know you've given up a great deal, and set aside your own desires more than once over the past year, in ways that were . . . painful for you. And in part, this is my way of apologizing. For turning Loghain away, and promising your hand to Cailan without speaking with you about it first. I hope ruling the teyrnir will make you happy, and that you'll find it fulfilling, as I have. What I'm trying to say is . . . I'm sorry. For all the things I did wrong this past year."

It was on the tip of her tongue to reassure him, to say it was all right. To tell him it no longer mattered.

But in truth, it wasn't all right, and it did matter. As happy as this news made her, she still ached for things that happened over the past year. She still missed Loghain every single day, and she yearned to be back in Orlais with Gauvain.

She did appreciate what her father was doing, though - naming her his heir, as well as offering an apology. So, while she wouldn't tell him what he did was all right, she wouldn't berate him about it, either.

"Thank you," she said. "Apology accepted. I appreciate this. All of it. And you know I will always do my best for the people of Highever."

"Yes, I do know that." A warm smile spread across his face. "And now, you understand why it's so important that you stay here, rather than coming south with us. Not only will this give you good experience running things on your own, but I can't risk something happening to you, not when you are so important to the future of the teyrnir. I know you'll do me proud. You've grown into a sensible young woman, that much is clear."

"Thank you," she said again.

"Well," he said as he pushed himself up from the chair. "I have a big day ahead tomorrow, riding out alongside Rendon." One corner of his mouth turned down, as though something dark had invaded his mood.

"Is something worrying you? More than the fact you're marching to war, I mean?"

He shook his head in denial, but the smile he wore didn't reach his eyes. "No, not really. I just . . . well, I'm sure you won't see any problems while we're gone. But, I want you to prepare the men who stay here." He paused. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"You've seen for yourself what the darkspawn are capable of, and legends of the blights tell of horrible things. If our armies can't hold them at Ostagar, you must be prepared for the worst. Prepared to be the last line of defense for the people of the Coastlands."

"Are you sure it was a good idea to send so many soldiers with Fergus? Perhaps we should have held more back to defend the castle, if needed?"

"No. The troops are needed in the south. Whatever threats I've devised in my mind are imaginary for the time being; the darkspawn in the south are real. Besides, when the king demands it, _not_ sending the whole of our forces south would be a distinctly bad idea."

"In case he gets the idea that you're up to something? Perhaps because of this plan he has of marrying Celene?"

"Yes. Exactly. But you don't need to worry about any of that. You'll have enough to occupy your mind while I'm gone." He smiled. "Now, let us not speak of ominous things. Instead, we shall assume that all will go well and trust that the Maker will watch over us." When Rhianna stood, he pulled her into a warm embrace. "I'll see you at dinner."

"All right."

He pulled away, and then cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. "You're my darling daughter, Rhianna. And I love you."

"I love you, too, Father." She kissed his cheek. "So very much."

When she closed the door behind him, tears welled up in her eyes, although she wasn't entirely sure why.

No longer in the mood for a nap, she pulled a volume of Antivan fairy tales from the shelf, and settled herself near the fire.

‹O›

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‹O›

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_A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to my lovely reviewers: __Kira Tamarion, Emzat0r, Purplechaos3214, Kateskates24, DjinnieGenie, Hannahhobnob, Milly-finalfantasy, Seth Motley, KatDancer2, KrystylSky, Arachelle905, SwomeeSwan, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyrannosaurustex, Skidney, Chrismasters, and a Guest. _

_A note about canon and timelines: As you probably noticed, I switched around some of the events in this chapter from the way they occur in the game. It makes no sense to me that Fergus would march away with the army at dusk (or late enough, anyway, that her father would suggest Rhianna should go straight to bed). They would not be able to make any reasonable progress by nightfall. So, I've juggled the timeline a bit, and this will definitely not be the last time I make such an adjustment. While this story will follow the major events and possible outcomes as they play out in the game, I will not always stick religiously to the smaller details in canon. _

‹›‹O›‹›


	3. To ask something in return

_**9 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed. It was still dark outside; not even a hint of dawn shone through her window, but something had pulled her out of her slumber, and this time, she felt certain it hadn't been a dream.

Dane stood at the bedroom door, ears at attention, but she could hear nothing out in the hallway.

"Dane? What it is boy?"

He huffed softly; he'd heard noises that didn't belong.

Now, she heard something, too. Shouts, and the clang of meal against stone. A muffled scream, cut short.

Dane crouched, his teeth bared, and a rumbling growl came from deep in his chest.

What in the Maker's name was going on?

Rhianna climbed out of bed, but before she could reach the door, it burst open.

One of the servants stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with terror. "The castle! It's under attack, my lady! Please! Save us!"

As Rhianna rushed toward him, his body jerked and shuddered. Something warm and wet spattered across her face as he fell backward into the hall.

She reached up and touched her cheek; when she pulled her hand away, there was a dark stain on her fingers.

Blood.

A soft whisper cut through the air, and something hit her, hard, and knocked her back. As she stumbled and fell onto the bed, pain exploded in her belly. She glanced down; an arrow had pierced her right side, just below her rib cage.

It hurt. Oh Maker_,_ it _hurt_!

Holding her breath, she gritted her teeth against the pain and pushed herself up off the bed. She threw herself against the bedroom door, slammed it shut, and turned the key in the lock.

Maker's balls. What was happening? Was the castle under attack?

It must be, but by whom, and why? Was it the darkspawn, or Orlesians? And how in the world had they gotten past the guard?

She shook her head, to clear it. None of those things mattered. Her family: her parents, and Oriana and Oren – finding them was the only thing that mattered. First, she needed armor and weapons.

Dreading what she needed to do, she grasped the shaft of the arrow. Again she held her breath and clenched her jaw, and yanked the arrow from her body. A flash of white obscured her vision as bolts of pain shot through her, bright and hot. Feeling faint, she struggled to keep herself upright while she pressed a hand against the wound, hoping to staunch the flow of blood that had already soaked her nightgown.

_Thump._

A violent noise at her bedroom door; most likely a booted foot of one of the attackers trying to get in.

She didn't have much time.

Awkwardly, whimpering from the pain that made her want to scream, she used one arm to tug the nightgown over her head. Then she wrapped it around her waist, using it as a makeshift bandage.

_Thump. _

She climbed into her well-worn leathers, and strapped the cuirass as tightly as possible.

_Thump. _

Hopefully, the pressure would keep her from bleeding to death before she could find help. The pain she could bear; she'd fought often enough with gashes and broken bones while training with Loghain. But never before had she fought with a wound that bled this heavily.

_Thump. _

After shoving her feet into her boots, she grabbed her longsword and the red steel dagger Loghain had given her all those years ago. As she turned to face the door, it burst open. A soldier charged at her, his sword held high.

All thoughts fled her mind as she easily parried the man's attack. When the blow landed unexpectedly off-target, he stumbled, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Rhianna nearly laughed aloud; apparently, he'd thought attacking a young lady in her bedroom in the middle of the night was a simple task. He wouldn't live long enough to fully understand just how wrong he had been about that.

Before the man could recover, Dane rushed forward and sank his teeth into the back of a thigh. An agonized scream cut through the air until it was cut off abruptly when Rhianna slit the man's throat with her sword.

As he slumped to the floor, she kicked at the dying man with the toe of her boot.

_Maker's balls_.

His shield bore Arl Howe's device.

Arl Howe? Was it possible Howe's men had attacked the castle? That made no sense . . .

Noise in the hallway caught her attention, and she sprinted toward an archer who stood just outside the door to Fergus and Oriana's room, probably the same archer who had shot her a few minutes earlier. Dane quickly outdistanced Rhianna; the archer's throat was torn out before Rhianna could land a blow.

To her left, she turned to see two swordsmen rush toward her. Between Dane's teeth and Rhianna's sword, it was a matter of very few minutes before the soldiers lie on the floor, their own blood pooling beneath them.

Like the man in her bedroom and the archer, both of these soldiers wore Amaranthine regalia.

Maker's _balls_. They really were Howe's men.

She thought she heard shouts in the distance, but no more soldiers appeared. She pounded on her parent's door.

"Mother! Father! Are you inside?"

Wood scraped against stone, and the door flew open.

"Rhianna! Thank the Maker." Eleanor Cousland wore leather armor and carried a sword, deep lines etched in her brow. "I heard fighting outside, and I feared the worst." Eleanor's eyes grew wide at the sight of blood on her daughter's armor. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." It wasn't really a lie. Rhianna wasn't in much pain at the moment; a rush of adrenaline had flooded her system, fueled by the fighting and by her rage. "What in the name of the Black City is happening?"

"I don't know. A scream woke me. There were men in the hall, so I barred the door. Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men. That miserable bastard."

"You don't suppose his troops were delayed on purpose? Do you think he planned this, in advance?"

"He must have." Her mother's eyes flashed. "I'll slit his lying throat myself." She clutched Rhianna's arm. "We have to find your father. He never came to bed last night. You don't suppose-"

"Father's fine," Rhianna said firmly. "He knows how to take care of himself. We just have to find him. Together." Her stomach lurched as she remembered the archer who'd stood in the hall, just outside the room her brother shared with his family. "But first, we've got to make sure Oriana and Oren are all right."

_Oh, please,_ she prayed, as she hurried across the hall, _Blessed Andraste, please. Please let them be safe._

She stopped in the threshold, her feet unwilling to take her any farther forward when she saw the carnage inside.

Oren and Oriana lay side by side in the middle of the room, flat on their backs, blood soaking the carpet beneath them. Oriana's throat had been slit, and Oren's belly run through with a sword.

"Maker, no!" Rhianna sobbed, and stumbled backward.

She turned, and grabbed at her mother's shoulders, wanting to keep her from entering the room.

But it was too late; Eleanor had already seen the bodies lying on the floor.

"No!" she screamed, and rushed forward to drop to her knees beside her grandson. "My little Oren? Oh, Blessed Andraste, no!" She turned to Rhianna, eyes bright with unshed tears. "What sort of monster would do a thing like this? I can't . . . oh, poor Fergus." She covered her face in her hands. "I can't see this. I can't see this anymore."

With tears clouding her vision, Rhianna urged her mother to her feet, and clung to her shoulder.

"I don't understand," Rhianna sobbed. "Why would he do this? Why would Howe betray us? He's not even taking hostages?"

"He intends to kill us all. That bastard," Eleanor snarled. "After all Bryce has done for him over the years. This is how he repays us?"

"But I don't see how he thinks he will ever get away with something like this."

"If he kills all of us, he _can_ get away with it," Eleanor replied. "He can say anything he likes. That we were attacked by Orlesians, or . . . well, I don't know. But that must be why he's not taking hostages. He really plans to kill us all."

"He won't succeed in that. He _won't_."

"No," her mother agreed. "He won't." Eleanor's eyes were hard and dark. "I'm no Orlesian wallflower to faint away in the face of danger. Let's cut our way through these bastards and find your father, and get to safety."

Rhianna glanced back at Oriana and Oren. If felt wrong to just leave them there, to turn her back on them, but what else was there to do? It was too late to do anything to help them.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, taking a last look at her nephew as tears slid down her cheeks. Then her mother pulled her toward the door that led away from the family's quarters.

In the hallway beyond, they encountered more guards. Rhianna attacked with no hesitation, controlling her rage just enough to make her more dangerous than she'd ever been before. She slashed with her sword and her dagger, she stepped lightly, and struck with deadly precision, and in a matter of minutes, no soldiers were left standing.

As they reached the small landing between the family's quarters and the main part of the castle, a tall woman ran toward them, her sword unsheathed and bloody.

"Thank the Maker you're both unharmed!"

"Ser Jana," Eleanor said, "have you seen Bryce?"

"No, Your Grace, I haven't. I came straight here as soon as I heard the sounds of fighting. Arl Howe's men have attacked. It started with the guards he brought with him yesterday, but more soldiers have arrived, and they're trying to get through the main gates. The castle will be overrun any minute now. We have to get you and Lady Rhianna to safety."

"First, we must find my husband," Eleanor insisted.

"We will, Your Grace," the guard captain reassured. "Together."

The three women and the hound turned to the right, and looked for Bryce in the library, but all they found there were heaps of rubble where shelves had been knocked over and pottery destroyed. When they tried to make it through to the main gates, they found the way blocked by a pile of broken furniture that had been set alight.

"Damn it!" Eleanor cursed. "We'll have to go around. But first . . ." She took Rhianna's hand, and pulled her down the corridor that led to the castle treasury. "I'll be damned if Rendon Howe will get his hands on the Cousland sword." She grasped the chain that hung around her neck, and pulled it over her head. "Here." She handed it to Rhianna. "This is the key to the treasury. Let's get what we can, quickly."

Rhianna had not been inside the treasury in years, not since she had asked her father to show it to her when she was small. Now, her hand shook as she tried to get the key into the lock, but she forced herself to take a breath, and go slowly, and finally the key slid home. Ser Jana and Dane stood watch at the door while Rhianna and her mother entered the vault.

Certain that they only had minutes, at best, before more of Howe's men appeared, Rhianna's eyes searched for the items she wanted. The shield that had belonged to Sarim Cousland, the first item ever painted with the laurel crest that was the Cousland family's device. The Cousland sword, that Haelia wielded against the werewolves. The same sword Rhianna had carried during the reenactment at the Festival of Wolves. The sword Loghain used to defend them both during the attack that night.

Loghain.

If only he were here. Rhianna was flooded with an ache that brought tears to her eyes. If Loghain were here, he would fight at their sides, and no one could possibly defeat them. If only he were here, he would save her. He would save them all.

But Loghain wasn't here, and Rhianna would have to save herself, and the rest of her family as well.

Except it was already too late for that. Again, the memory of Oriana and Oren, lifeless on the floor, caused tears to well up in her eyes.

With a shake of her head, Rhianna forced herself to keep moving. There was no time to grieve; that would have to wait until after they'd found Father and taken care of Howe.

Even though she was strong enough now to wield the family sword, she strapped the heirloom to her back; she preferred the familiar weight of her own longsword in her hand. She grabbed several small bags with gemstones and jewelry, and surveyed the rest of the room. Paintings would have to be left behind, as would the ceremonial armor; it was too heavy for her to carry. She considered changing into it, and leaving her leathers, which were hardly exceptional. But she wasn't used to wearing plate mail, and feared it would slow her down, so the ceremonial armor stayed behind.

In just a few minutes, the three women and Dane were back out in the hallways. They turned a corner and found themselves face to face with another knot of soldiers.

"That's the teyrna, and the teyrn's daughter!" one of them shouted. "Remember what the Arl said. Kill everyone else, but he wants the Cousland girl alive. We'll get paid more for her if she's still kicking."

Regardless of what the Arl wanted, it would not be the destiny of these particular soldiers to fulfill his wishes. With Dane at their side, Eleanor, Rhianna and Jana had little trouble with any of the soldiers who attacked them.

They fought their way back to the main hallway, but once again found the way to the front courtyard blocked.

"We'll go through the Great Hall," Eleanor suggested, and they pushed open the heavy wooden doors.

Inside, the room was in chaos, as Highever guards battled against Howe's men. A crackle of lightning lit the far end of the hall: a mage. Rhianna sprinted across the hall and charged the woman, ready to swing sword and dagger at the same time. Before Rhianna could land her attack, the woman fired off a spell, and Rhianna was hit with a wave of cold that knocked her onto her back. The pain from the blast, combined with the wound in her side - which was beginning to throb painfully - made it difficult for her to stand. But when a blast of fire from the end of the mage's staff flew toward her, Rhianna rolled out of the way and used the momentum to jump back up on her feet. With a shout, she put her sword through the mage's belly, and yanked upward, certain that when the woman fell, she wouldn't get back up again.

Rhianna whirled around and engaged another of Howe's soldiers, and for a few minutes, everything was a blur of steel and leather and wood. The smell of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, as grunts and screams and the deafening nose of clashing blades echoed off the walls.

Finally, though, only those loyal to Highever remained standing.

A man rushed across the room, and grabbed Rhianna by the shoulders.

"My lady! Thank the Maker!" Ser Gilmore's face was streaked with blood, as was his armor, but he looked to be uninjured. "By the time I realized Howe's men were attacking, it was all I could do to close the gates before they got inside." Ser Gilmore gestured to the far end of the the room, where several castle guards pushed against the large wooden doors, keeping them closed against the horde of soldiers trying to break in.

"They did get inside," Rhianna said. "Mother and I were awoken by soldiers in the family's quarters. Have you seen my father?"

"Last time I saw the teyrn, he was with that Grey Warden. They were looking for you. I think they were headed toward the kitchen, hoping you would go there to use the servants' entrance."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore." Eleanor's breath came quickly, as blood dripped from the sword in her hand.

"Go, Your Ladyship. Get out of here now, while you still have the chance. We won't be able to hold these doors much longer."

"Come with us," Rhianna begged, and grabbed him by the wrist.

He pulled away. "No. I'll stay here and give you time to escape."

Rhianna hesitated, but Eleanor grasped her arm, and began to pull her toward the door. "He's right, Rhianna. We've got to find your father, and get you out of this castle. Maker watch over you, Ser Gilmore," she said.

"Maker watch over us all. He turned and strode toward the barricaded door.

"I'll stay here as well," Ser Jana said. "To help reinforce the main gates. Go on without me."

"Maker be with you," Rhianna said, and then, with her mother's insistent hand on her arm, they turned and left through the north door.

They found more of Howe's soldiers in the corridor, but had little trouble defeating them. Rhianna had never seen her mother wield a sword before; the woman had a strong arm. No Orlesian wallflower, indeed.

In the kitchen, Cath and Adney - the two elven servants - lie dead on the floor. What about Nan? There was no sign of the older woman; perhaps she'd managed to hide somewhere safe.

What if Howe's men had already found her father? It might already be too late.

Rhianna hurried into the larder where the servant's entrance was located, with her mother close behind. She saw nothing at first, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, but a soft groan in the far corner caught her attention.

"Father!"

"There you are," he gasped. "I had begun to think you were never coming." He lay in a dark patch on the floor and clutched at his side. As Rhianna drew near, she saw that the dark stain beneath him was blood.

"Bryce!" Eleanor raced to his side and dropped to her knees to support him in her arms. "What happened? You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men . . . got to me first." Bryce coughed, and moaned softly as his fingers pressed against the wound in his side. "They nearly did me in."

Oh, Maker, there was so much blood . . .

How would they get him to safety in time?

"But why?" Rhianna's voice was desperate. "Why would Howe do this to us? To you?"

"I've been a fool," Bryce breathed. "All this time, Howe was jealous of me. He felt Maric . . . never gave him his due for what he did during the Rebellion. He thinks he'll use the chaos of the darkspawn attack to draw attention from himself for what he's done here. To advance himself somehow with the king." He clutched at Rhianna's hand. "You've got to get out of here, Pup. You've got to warn your brother, before Howe gets to him, too."

"We'll all go." Rhianna squeezed his hand. "The three of us. You, and Mother and I. The servant's entrance is just there. Come on, let me help you up."

"I won't . . . survive the standing," he said with a shake of his head.

"She's right Bryce," Eleanor pleaded. "We can get you out of here, find you healing magic."

"It's too late for that, my love."

Rhianna felt tears come, but she blinked them back.

"I'm afraid your father is right."

At the sound of a man's voice behind her, Rhianna was on her feet. Sword drawn, she dropped into a fighting stance, ready to defend her parents. Dane crouched at her side, and growled an unmistakable warning.

It was Duncan. He stopped walking, and with slow movements, slid his sword into the sheath on his back, then held his hands out, palms forward, in front of him.

"I mean no harm, Lady Cousland, to you or your parents."

With an exhalation of breath, Rhianna relaxed her stance and nodded, gesturing that he could move past. He knelt beside her mother, and Rhianna returned to her father's side.

"Duncan." Bryce's voice was weaker now. "Take my wife and my daughter to safety. I beg of you."

"I will," Duncan replied. "But I am going to have to ask something in return. I came here looking for a recruit, and I cannot leave without one. The evil that Howe has committed here tonight pales in comparison to the threat the darkspawn pose. And only Grey Wardens can stop a blight once it has begun. Do you understand what I am asking?"

"I . . . understand," Bryce groaned. "Please, just make sure my daughter lives."

Maker's blood. They were talking about . . .

"No!" Rhianna shouted. "I won't. I won't leave you!"

"Pup, you _must_ do this." Bryce put his hand on her arm. "You must not die here tonight. If you don't get out of the castle, who will warn Fergus? Who will make certain Howe is brought to justice? You've got to go to king, tell him what happened here. Cailan will listen to you. And then you must do what Duncan asks of you. We Couslands always do our duty. You know that."

"My duty? My duty is to you and Mother. To Highever. Not to the Grey Wardens. I've done everything you've ever asked of me. Please don't ask this. I don't want to leave, and I don't want to be a Warden." She turned her back to Duncan, and spoke more quietly, although not so low that the Warden commander couldn't hear. "Loghain says they're not to be trusted."

Duncan put a hand on her shoulder, and she had to force herself not to flinch away. "The Grey Wardens are the only ones who can save Ferelden from this Blight. And we can't do it without people like you."

Now she did pull away from his hand. "And you'll blackmail a dying man just to recruit me?"

"Rhianna!" Her father's voice was sharp.

"No!" she shouted. "I'm going to stay here and fight. And then we'll get you out of here. Like Mother said, find healing magic. There has to be a way. We can't let Howe get away with this!"

"That's why you must survive," Bryce murmured. "So Howe doesn't get away with this. Take her, Duncan. Take her and Eleanor, and go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Eleanor said firmly. "My place is here with you, my love. At your side. And I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy our daughter time to get away." Eleanor wrapped her arms more tightly around her husband. "We had a good life, my love. And now it's up to our children to carry on."

"No!" Rhianna sobbed. "Mother! You've got to come with us. Please. We'll all go together. To safety! All of us. Please." A tear crawled down her cheek.

"Rhianna, my brave girl." Her mother's eyes shone with tears. "My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse. What do I care for my safety? Go with Duncan. Please."

"No, I won't. I won't go." Another tear. "I'm staying here, with you."

"To do what?" Her mother's voice was ragged. "To die? Your father is right, darling. You have to get out of here. Find your brother. Make sure that Howe pays for what he's done to us."

In the distance, a deafening crash echoed through the halls.

Duncan put his hand on Rhianna's arm. "We must go. Now. We don't have much time."

Rhianna pulled her arm away and shook her head. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Pup." Her father's voice was ragged. "You disappoint me, Pup. Won't you do this one . . . last thing for me?"

"How can you ask this of me?" Tears began to stream down her face and she clutched her father's hand. "I don't want to leave you. I can't leave you. I can't," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but you leave me no choice," Duncan said. "According to ancient law, on behalf of the Grey Wardens, I hereby invoke the right of conscription upon Rhianna Cousland."

Shouting could be heard now, as it echoed ever closer through the stone corridors of the castle.

"No!" As Rhianna turned away from Duncan, something hit the back of her head. There was a flash of light, a brief moment of intense pain, and then . . . nothing.

‹›‹O›‹›

When Rhianna awoke, she was on the ground, in what felt like grass, and everything was dark except a light that flickered in the distance through the trees.

Trees . . . if there were trees, then she must be outdoors, out in the woods.

She shifted her limbs, preparing to sit up, and her head throbbed, an ache as bad as any she could ever remember, as bad as it had hurt when she'd had the plague all those years ago. Even worse was an agonizing pain that exploded in her side, and made her want to scream.

Before she could move again, a hand clapped across her mouth.

"Shhh."

Voices rang out, and grass and twigs cracked underfoot as bodies moved through the brush nearby. She lay still until all was silent again, and the light had flickered off into the distance.

The hand at her mouth relaxed, and she inhaled deeply through her mouth, sending another stab of agony through her head and beneath her rib cage.

What was she doing here? She remembered going to bed the night before, and then Dane, growling . . .

In a flood, she remembered. Howe's soldiers attacked the castle. Oriana and Oren were dead. Her parents had been left behind in the castle, and were surely dead by now, as well, along with everyone else she had ever known in Highever.

The hand that had been clapped across her mouth must belong to Duncan, the Warden commander.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she forced them back. She didn't want to make any unnecessary movements that would cause her head to pound and her side to ache more than they already did.

"I apologize for my hand," Duncan whispered. "But Howe's men are all around us. I couldn't risk you crying out."

"I understand." As she pushed herself up onto one elbow, she groaned from the pain. A gentle pressure against her mind told her Dane was nearby. "Where are we?"

"In the woods near the castle. I'm not sure they've realized yet that you escaped. It would be best for us to put as much distance between ourselves and Highever as possible, if you're capable of traveling."

"Have you a poultice?"

"For your head?"

"No." She rubbed at her face with one hand. Actually, the pain in her head had subsided a bit. But her side hurt more than before, and she felt light-headed. How much blood had she lost, anyway? "I have a wound. Here." She touched her side. "I was hit by an arrow before I managed to get into my armor. Right at the start."

"Maker," he swore softly. With surprisingly gentle hands, he unbuckled and removed her cuirass. The nightgown she'd wrapped around her middle was soaked through with a terrifying amount of blood that looked black in the waning moonlight.

Rhianna panted softly and breathed through the pain, as Duncan tended to her wound. He rubbed healing salve over the puncture and helped her sit up so he could wrap it up with a proper bandage. Then he strapped her armor back into place. Already, it felt much better, although sitting up did make her feel dizzy, and she clutched at Duncan's shoulder to keep from losing her balance.

He pressed a vial into her hand. "Drink this."

She did as she was told, and almost immediately felt much better, as the healing draught did its work. Her head stopped hurting, the ache in her side was greatly reduced, and her mind felt clearer as well.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, do you think you're up to traveling? We'll move slowly, as quietly as possible."

"Yes."

Duncan let Rhianna lead the way; she knew these lands better than anyone. She forced herself to focus on the path, on working out the best route that would take them, unseen, up into the hills. Maybe if she kept her eyes on the ground at her feet, she could keep at bay the memories of the night before. Keep at bay the panic and grief that churned inside of her, that threatened to burst out and overwhelm her if she let her thoughts stray from the task at hand.

It took them several hours, but finally they made it far enough away from the castle that they hadn't seen or heard any sign of soldiers in more than an hour. They continued up into the foothills, not on the road, but on deer trails, so they would not likely be seen by anyone who came up the road looking for them.

A few minutes after the sky began to pinken in the east, Gwyn found them. Rhianna had rarely been so happy to see another living creature, but-

Oh, no.

She stopped walking as her stomach lurched at this new realization.

What about Faolan? Maker's blood, he was trapped in the stables in Highever.

_Oh, please, please, please let him be all right._

Surely, Howe wasn't stupid or cruel enough to harm the horses and livestock, but if he knew Faolan was Rhianna's mount, he might hurt the horse out of spite.

"Rhianna?" Duncan asked. "Is something wrong?"

"My horse. He's back in the stables at the castle. We've got to go back for him."

"That's not possible. Even if we could manage to get back to the castle without being seen, how do you expect to get you and your horse away from there without being captured?"

"I know the castle better than anyone. I can sneak in, and . . . Faolan is fast. We can outrun anyone who comes after us." But even as the argument left her lips, she knew it was futile. Duncan was right. Faolan was beyond her reach now; she would just have to pray that he came to no harm before she could figure out a way to take Highever back from Rendon Howe. To come back and kill Howe and every single guard who had attacked her family.

She let out a breath, and it felt like the last vestiges of hope were exhaled along with it. The last vestiges of joy, and all the good things she had ever known in the whole of her life. A life that was gone forever.

Her vision blurred, and, furiously, she blinked the tears away as she started walking again, toward the mountains.

They had made good progress by the time the sun had fully risen in the eastern sky, and Duncan suggested they stop and have a rest and something to eat and drink.

Side by side, they sat on a large, flat rock that overlooked the valley and the castle below. Other than a few tendrils of smoke coming from unusual places, from here it was impossible to tell that anything was amiss in Highever. After a minute, Rhianna turned her head away. She didn't want to think about the castle or her family or anything at all right now.

Instead, she chewed on the dried meat Duncan had handed her, and rubbed Dane's neck as the hound nuzzled as close to her as he could get without actually climbing into her lap.

"I'm sorry for what I had to do in there," Duncan said after they'd sat in silence for a while. "The soldiers were coming, and there was no time to waste. So, I did what was needed to make sure you didn't die along with the rest of your family."

Rhianna turned to look at him. She'd never been quite this close to him before, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. Brown, and just a shade lighter than one would expect considering his dark hair and complexion. He had full lips, and a hooked nose. His beard was in need of a trim, but the hair that was pulled back in a queue was as neat as always. He certainly didn't look as though he'd spent the night fighting his way out of a castle under attack, and dragging an unconscious young woman halfway across Highever.

All in all, he looked like someone you would expect to see on a pirate ship, right down to the single gold earring he wore.

She realized she hadn't yet responded to Duncan's apology. In truth, she wasn't really sure what to say. Did she lie, and tell him it was all right? That she didn't mind he'd knocked her over the head? That he'd stolen her away from the family she loved so much she would have rather died with them than be forced to carry on alone? Should she yell? Curse him? Throw a fit and stomp her feet and say she would never join the Wardens, even though he and she both knew those words were empty? She'd been conscripted, and she was fairly certain there was nothing - no authority in Ferelden, or anywhere else in Thedas – that could reprieve her from that fate.

Perhaps he expected her to cry. She was rather surprised that she wasn't crying, to be honest. But when she looked at the castle now, there was no sadness. She felt numb, as though none of this were really happening. As though it were merely a bad dream from which she had yet to awaken, and all she had to do was wander, and not think too closely on it, until morning.

"I understand," she said, finally. She supposed it was true. It would have been a waste of her life to die along with her parents, and it would have given Rendon Howe a great deal of pleasure. He'd always disliked her. Hated her, even. What was it one of the soldiers had said? That Howe had ordered her not to be killed. She was to be taken alive, if possible.

What was that about?

No. On second thought, she was probably better off not knowing.

She turned back to Duncan. "Is this why you came to Highever? Am I what you wanted all along?"

He let out a breath. "Yes. To be honest, you were the one I wanted all along. I've known since the day we met in the Bannorn that you have what it takes to be a Warden. And when you fought your way through that castle, fought your way to my side, I knew I was right."

"I didn't fight my way to you," she insisted, although she had no energy for a real argument. "I fought my way to my father."

He said nothing in response to that. Instead, he asked, "Are you up to traveling further today? Or would you prefer to get some sleep."

Sleep? The thought of even a few minutes of blissful oblivion in the Fade sounded wonderful, but there was no way in the world she would be able to sleep, not yet. Better to keep going, and exhaust her body so thoroughly that it would have no choice but to collapse into unconsciousness sometime later.

"Let's keep going." She paused. "Just where are we going, anyway? I assume we're going to Ostagar, but which route would you prefer to take? Through the mountains and along the lake, or through the Bannorn?"

"We are, indeed, on our way to Ostagar. But there's at least one stop I need to make first. It's not far out of the way."

"What stop?"

"Kinloch Hold. To request that more mages be sent to assist the king's troops in battling the darkspawn. To date, only about a dozen Circle mages have been sent."

The Circle Tower? Rhianna had never been there before. Ah well. It was as good a place to go as any. She wasn't likely to notice her surroundings much no matter where they went. "The most direct route there would be to go through the mountains. We can stop in West Hill along the way. It should take us about four days to walk to there, and then another four to Lake Calenhad." Again, she missed Faolan, and hoped that he was safe.

When they'd finished their meal, they headed further up into the hills. Rhianna took them via a route that kept them off of the main road, although eventually, there would be sections of the mountains they wouldn't be able to pass any other way. Still, as long as they kept vigilant for riders coming from Highever, Duncan seemed confident they wouldn't have any trouble.

As the sun began to set, Rhianna realized that for the past hour or so, it had been a constant struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Still, she said nothing, and kept marching along in front of Duncan, until he called for a halt.

"Let's camp here," he suggested. "Unless you know of a better place nearby?"

They were in a small clearing, with a stream running along one edge. It looked like a fine place to camp, and she couldn't think of anywhere else to suggest, so they stopped for the night. Lighting a fire was out of the question; Howe was sure to have sent at least a few soldiers on horseback to follow them, once they'd realized that Rhianna - and Duncan, who was a witness to the whole thing - had escaped.

"What I don't understand," Rhianna said as she and Duncan sat together near the stream and ate another meal of dried meat, "is how Howe thinks he could possibly get away with this. What is he planning to tell everyone else? The Landsmeet, and the king? That someone else attacked the castle and massacred the Cousland family? In order for that to work, he would have had to kill everyone in the castle, and make sure that no one - not even one person who'd seen a Howe device - escaped. Or does he think he can convince everyone that my family deserved to be murdered? Even little Oren? I've disliked the man for years, but I honestly wouldn't have thought him capable of something like this. He was just talking about how he still had hopes I would marry his son Thomas. Is he mad?"

"I wish I had an answer for you, Rhianna. It doesn't make any sense to me, either. Perhaps Howe intends to use the chaos in the south as a diversion, hoping that no one will look too hard at what happened in Highever."

"The murder of an entire family? The second most powerful family in all of Ferelden? Does he really think no one will look too hard at what happened?"

"If the darkspawn break through the army at Ostagar, it's entirely possible that no one will look too hard. Not until it's too late to do anything about it."

"It's already too late. My parents and my nephew are dead."

Duncan held her gaze as he nodded slowly. "You're right. Forgive me, Rhianna. I . . . I can only imagine what you must be going through right now, after such a profound loss."

Duncan's sympathy made her uncomfortable, somehow, as though it would bring her grief to the surface, force her to look at it, straight on. That was something she didn't want to do. Right now, she felt empty inside, and she was glad for it. If she started to fill up with feelings, it might be too much for her to bear, and she didn't want to break down, fall into a hole she couldn't climb back out of. Not once since waking up in the forest had she cried, and she didn't intend to let herself start now.

If she started, she might never stop.

Once the sun had set, the temperature dropped quickly in the hills. This led to a rather urgent problem: she hadn't left the castle prepared for this little camping trip. She had no gear, no spare clothing, no bedroll. And with no fire, it promised to be a very cold night, indeed. It was only the very beginning of autumn, and fortunately the weather hadn't yet turned chill, but wearing nothing but her leather armor was not going to be at all comfortable. She wasn't even wearing a linen shift underneath, and her blood-stained nightgown had been left behind on the floor of the forest near the castle.

Duncan pulled a bedroll out of his pack.

"I've been traveling through Ferelden," he explained when he saw the question in her gaze. "When I heard the commotion, I grabbed my entire pack. Fortunately, most of my belongings were still inside. We can take turns sleeping in the bedroll. Would you like to keep watch first, or sleep first?" he asked.

"Actually," she replied, "neither of us needs to keep watch. Between Dane down here, and Gwyn up in the trees, nothing is going to approach this camp without one of them letting us know."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I've entrusted my life to Dane many times in the past. He won't let anything happen to me. Not without giving plenty of warning. Who do you think woke me up last night?"

Duncan's eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to judge just how trustworthy she was. Not that she particularly cared what he thought of her.

"If the idea of having Dane keep watch makes you uncomfortable," she said, "I'll sit up first. You can sleep."

He stared a moment longer, and shook his head. "No, it's fine." He tossed the bedroll to her. "If you trust your animals, that's good enough for me."

She stared at the bedroll in her hands. "Then why are you giving me this? Aren't you going to sleep?"

"Yes. But you're wearing less than I am, and you've got an injury. You take it. I'll be fine."

"All right," she shrugged. If he didn't mind freezing, she certainly wasn't going to complain. She hadn't asked him to take her away from Highever. In fact, she had quite vehemently asked him not to. So, she laid out the bedroll, removed her boots, and snuggled down inside. Dane stretched himself out along her front, and she threw an arm over him, enjoying the added warmth his body provided.

She glanced at Duncan; he had settled himself up against a tree.

"Are you going to sleep like that?" she asked. "Sitting up? You are going to sleep, aren't you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." The moon had risen high enough in the sky that the clearing was well lit, and she could see the plumes made by Duncan's breath as he spoke. It was going to be a cold night.

She sat up, earning a concerned look from Dane. "You can't stay like that all night long. It's too cold. Let's . . . let's just share the bedroll. Come and sleep beside me."

"No. It's kind of you to offer, but I-"

"You what? You want to freeze? Besides, I'll be warmer, too, with you next to me."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way. Or for you to think I might try to take advantage of you. Of the fact that we're traveling alone together."

"I asked you to join me, Duncan. Does that sound like I'm worried about you taking advantage?" He didn't respond. "If it makes you feel any better, the last man who tried to force himself on me had his throat torn out. With a hair comb."

After a moment of silence, a laugh erupted from Duncan's chest. "Andraste's arse. Remind me not to underestimate you."

For some reason, Duncan's laughter triggered her own, and for a brief while they laughed together in the freezing woods, with not nearly enough miles yet between them and the ravaged castle that had once been her home.

Duncan got to his feet. "All right. No hair combs, though. If I do anything inappropriate, please just use your dagger."

"Fair enough," she agreed, feeling hollow and rather fragile after the laughter that had gone as suddenly as it appeared.

She turned her head while Duncan removed his boots and plate armor, and slid into the bedroll beside her. When he had settled himself, she scooted toward him so her back was pressed entirely along the front of his body, and Dane returned to his position stretched out along her front.

"If your backside gets cold," she said over her shoulder, "let me know, and I'll have Dane switch places. He's like a little hearth."

When Rhianna closed her eyes, her mind was flooded with memories of the night before: flickering firelight and the acrid smell of smoke in the corridors of the castle. The sound of Howe's men thumping on the door of the Great Hall, her father clutching his side as blood pooled on the floor of the larder. Oren's pale face, his eyes staring up at nothing. Her breath caught in her chest, and Duncan put a hand on her upper arm, in a gesture of comfort.

She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, as she pushed the images, the smells and the sounds out of her mind. Dane whimpered softly, and nuzzled himself closer to her, pushing his nose up against her neck.

At least she was warm.

That was the last thought that ran through her mind before sleep rushed out of nowhere to claim her.

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Thank you so much to my wonderful beta readers, Sehnsuchttraum and Psyche Sinclair, and also to my lovely reviewers: Skidney, DjinnieGenie, KrystylSky, KatDancer2, Hannahhobnob, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Tyrannosaurustex.

Next chapter: Loghain. :)

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	4. I heard a young maid singing

_**10 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Ostagar**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain lie awake on his cot and stared at the ceiling of the tent. It fluttered slowly in the wind, almost as though taking one long breath after another. The motion was soothing; perhaps it would help calm his mind, and ease him into the Fade.

Sleep had not come easily, of late. That was to be expected, of course; they were at war. A war unlike any he had fought before in some ways, but in others, everything was all too familiar. Cramped quarters, rationed food. Not quite enough alcohol. The stench of unwashed bodies, and gangrene, and hastily dug latrines. The scent of smoke from campfires and cooking fires and pyres. Dogs barking, the cries and moans of the injured and the tainted.

For all its unpleasantness, though, occasionally there were things that soothed the nerves. The way the late afternoon sun illuminated dust motes in the air, and took the edge off the early autumn chill. The voice of a Chantry sister as she recited a prayer. Laughter, as jokes were told and songs were sung around campfires.

Just now, in fact, a woman was singing softly into the night.

_"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,  
__I heard a young maid singing in the valley below.  
__Oh, don't deceive me,  
__Oh never leave me.  
__How could you use a young maiden so?"__  
_

Almost certainly, it was no soldier whose clear, lovely voice now drifted through the king's camp, but one of the whores - women, mostly, along with a handful of men - who followed the camp to ply their own trade. It was hardly surprising they chose to be here; there was good money to be made. Being away from home made for lonely nights, and the looming specter of death often inspired soldiers to live to the fullest during what might be their last days.

Loghain understood these urges, and shared them more frequently than he would care to admit, but even so, he had no desire to take a prostitute into his bed. He'd visited the Pearl a few times after Celia died, but that was years ago, and the thought of doing so now was profoundly unappealing. There was only one woman he wanted that way, and she was beyond his reach now. Best to push those thoughts from his mind, and ignore the feelings that imposed themselves upon his body from time to time.

When the sun shone, distractions were easy to find. His days were filled with meetings and briefings and time spent pouring over maps. Scouting parties reported the numbers of darkspawn seen on the fringes of the Wilds, and what could be discovered about their movements. Correspondence arrived from across Ferelden, letters that detailed whose troops would be expected, and when. He wrote letters, as well. Detailed accounts to his daughter, and lists of the dead to the lieutenant left behind in Denerim, so the families could be notified that their loved ones would not return home.

Such casualties had been relatively few. Even one dead soldier was too many, but considering the size of the horde they faced, they'd done well thus far. Three battles had been fought, and a number of smaller skirmishes, and the army had always pushed the darkspawn back, killing far more of the creatures than human lives were lost. But each time, the darkspawn returned, and in greater numbers. The horde had nearly doubled in size between the first battle they fought and the most recent one, just three days ago. And all indications suggested this trend would continue.

The armies under Loghain's command were formidable. Well-trained Denerim soldiers, along with Maric's Shield, were already here, as were men from Gwaren, South Reach, West Hills and the Ruswold, although Urien Kendells was the only arl who had accompanied his soldiers. More arrived daily in Ostagar, and would continue to do so. Highever and Amaranthine were expected soon, and Cailan had recently sent word to Redcliffe, asking Eamon Guerrin when his troops could be expected.

Eamon.

Loghain grunted with displeasure when the arl's face appeared in his mind.

That was another problem that would need to be dealt with, once this business with the darkspawn was done.

Two months ago, on the day before the armies had marched away from Denerim, Loghain had been in the library of the Gwaren Estate, reviewing treasury accounts. Preparing an army to march out to war was more complicated than he remembered. Although, to be fair, organizing the Rebellion had been vastly different. Back then, they started out with nothing, and built an entire army from the ground up. Mobilizing a standing army and sending them in an organized fashion was something of a different beast. There were a great many things to consider, and he needed to be certain nothing important had fallen through the cracks.

Since the standing armies were already equipped with arms and armor, food was the most important consideration. The army would not be able to forage much, if anything, off of the land; the Korcari Wilds were too impenetrable, and there were concerns about darkspawn taint. This meant that all food would need to be brought in down the Imperial Highway. Wheat, barley, peas and beans. Oxen, sheep, and pigs to be slaughtered upon arrival. Cured bacon, dried herring and countless wheels of cheese. The army would require at least three hundred tons of wheat per week for bread alone, and an equal amount of barley for making ale.

Hiring merchants to provide these supplies had been simple enough, and as long as the roads remained clear of darkspawn, the supply lines would hold. Paying for all of it was another matter. The nobles were responsible for victualing their own troops, but even so, Loghain would have to find funds to support the royal armies, which comprised the bulk of the soldiers who would be first to arrive in the the south. The royal treasury was not nearly as robust as Loghain would have liked; to be honest, it had never entirely recovered from the two long years he'd spent searching for Maric. There were funds to support the troops for four or five months - perhaps six - but if the darkspawn couldn't be contained within that time . . .

He closed the ledger book, and looked out the window into the garden. There was no point in worrying about that now. With any luck the darkspawn would be defeated quickly. Ferelden had everything needed to make this stand, for the time being.

A knock sounded at the door. It was Colin, Loghain's new footman. He'd been hired only a few months ago, and Loghain wasn't yet accustomed to the man's manner, his pattern of speech, the sounds of him around the house. Nor, Loghain supposed, was Colin accustomed to Loghain's ways. But given time, no doubt the two men would learn one another's habits, although Loghain doubted they would ever have the sort of easy unspoken communication that Loghain had shared with Uthalas.

"Begging pardon, Your Grace, but you have a visitor."

"A visitor? Who is it?"

"Bann Nicola Baranti, ser."

Nicola? That was unexpected. He couldn't remember her ever coming to the estate before. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain guests, but Nicola was hardly a frivolous person; if she was here, no doubt she had something of consequence to discuss.

"Send her in."

Once they had exchanged greetings, and the white-haired bann was settled on the sofa with a glass of port, she wasted little time. "No doubt, you're curious as to why I'm here."

"That much is true," Loghain agreed. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

"Well," she began, "It's a bit of a difficult subject to be honest, and I know you're extremely busy right now, preparing to march off to war, so I'll come right to the point. Some information fell into my hands recently. Information you should be aware of."

"What sort of information?"

"About the attempt on your life last year, when you were on your way to Gwaren."

What? Was she serious? Judging by her expression, she most assuredly was.

"What do you know about that? And how did this information come into your hands?"

"I have eyes and ears throughout the city," she replied. "And one of them overhead some talk in a tavern near the waterfront. There was a man who claimed to have been the only one to escape, after a failed ambush in the Brecilian Forest. He had a number of things to say about the attack, and also about the man who hired him."

"The _man_ who hired him?" He lifted a brow. "I assumed the assassins were sent by Empress Celene."

"Yes, I expect that's what most of us assumed. And, no doubt, what the man who hired them hoped everyone would continue to assume, had they been successful. But it so happens these assassins were not sent by a foreign power, but by someone right here in Ferelden."

"Who?"

She held his gaze. "Eamon Guerrin."

"What? Eamon? Are you sure about this?"

"Positive. I would not be here otherwise. My sources are reliable."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Eamon? Why in the world would he have done such a thing?"

"That," Nicola replied with a shake of her head, "I do not know. No whisper of motive was part of the intelligence that came to me. Chances are the assassins themselves had no idea. I suppose he must want you out of the way for some political reason, but I can't piece together a theory about exactly what that could be."

"Hmnh. Eamon and I have never seen eye to eye, on a great many things, but this?" He sat back. "This is unconscionable."

"My thought exactly." She shrugged. "As I said, I honestly can't fathom what his reasons might be. But I thought, especially with the trouble in the south creating such a distraction, you deserved to know that you have an enemy. Probably not just the one." She gave him a crooked grin. "But one you might not have expected."

"Yes, this is definitely unexpected."

She stood. "And now, I've done what I came here to do, so I'll leave you to your preparations."

Loghain got to his feet, as well. "Thank you, very much. I appreciate you coming to me with this information."

"You're welcome. And good luck with the war. As I'm sure you know, I'm sending a unit of my guard with the royal armies, and those who remain here can help keep the peace in the city while you're gone. And of course, I'll do everything in my power to support Queen Anora while the king is at Ostagar."

"I'm sure she will appreciate that," Loghain said truthfully.

The woman smiled. "Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all."

After Nicola left, he'd tried to get his head around this new information. Had Eamon Guerrin really hired those assassins? It seemed unlikely, but he trusted Nicola. In the past, information that came from her "sources" had always been accurate, and she was an honest woman who had done more good works in Denerim than any other single person in recent years. So he did not doubt that it was true.

But why? Why would Eamon want Loghain dead?

Feeling restless, he'd taken a walk to the palace, to speak with his daughter in private.

"I trust you're prepared to march out in the morning?" she asked, after they were settled in chairs near the window of her private chambers. A wry smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "I can't imagine you would be here, visiting, if you weren't."

"Yes," he chuckled. "I'm ready. For the most part. I'm sure I've forgotten things, but hopefully nothing crucial." He caught her gaze. "I'm not really here just to visit, though."

"No?" Had something dulled in her eyes? Some joy at the thought he'd come just to see her? "What brings you then?" she asked, her smile tighter than before.

Damn. He should have been more careful with his words. "I had a visit this morning from Nicola Baranti. She had some very interesting news to report."

"Bann Nicola?" Anora's brow arched, and any hint of hurt feelings seemed to have fled. "What news?"

"Apparently, it wasn't Celene who hired that last bunch of assassins that came after me."

"No? And Nicola knows who _did_ send them?"

"Yes. According to her 'sources,' it was Eamon Guerrin."

"Eamon? Andraste's arse! But why?"

"That part is still a mystery."

Anora regarded him through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. "It happened just after the Landsmeet ended, but I can't think of anything that was brought up last year that would have provoked such an attack. I do know Eamon fought with Cailan before returning to Redcliffe, although I've no idea what their disagreement was about. And . . . oh . . ." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened, slightly. "I wonder." She chewed on her bottom lip, and then shook her head. "No, that makes no sense."

"What makes no sense?"

"I received a letter not long ago, from Isolde Guerrin. Asking for my assistance." She paused; Loghain remained silent and waited for her to continue. "Apparently, her son, Connor, has show signs of . . . magic."

"The Guerrin boy is a mage?"

Anora let out a breath. "It appears so, yes. Do you remember, last year there was some business with a fire in Redcliffe? Apparently Connor was the one who started the fire. And not by playing with hot coals."

"Maker's balls. The boy is Redcliffe's only heir. _Was_ Redcliffe's only heir. He can't inherit now."

"No, he can't. Although I suspect Isolde has some hope of . . . covering it up."

"What do you mean?"

"The reason she wrote to me was to ask if I knew of anyone who might be able to tutor the boy. In secret."

"Tutor? You mean, a mage?"

"Yes. To teach the boy to control his magic."

"Rather than sending him to the Circle Tower? She'd better hope the Templars don't catch wind of it. What did you tell her?"

"I said I wasn't sure I could help, but that I would keep my ears open."

"Does it seem strange that she would contact you, of all people? You're the queen. You can hardly be complicit in trying to shelter an apostate mage."

"I suspect Isolde does not think of her son as an apostate. He's only ten years old. She just wants to protect him, and she and I have always gotten along well, on those occasions when we've met. I think, too, that Eamon's dislike of me might have factored into her decision. She probably thinks it's unlikely that news of this will get back to him through me."

"What do you mean, 'get back to him?' Does he not know?"

"No. Not as of Isolde's letter, he didn't. And she seemed determined that he should _not_ find out." She paused. "Of course, that also means it can't possibly be related to this assassination attempt of his. He doesn't even know his own son is a mage. Which means we're back to square one. I can't think of any obvious reason he would want you out of way. I wonder what he's up to?"

Loghain shrugged. "I wish I knew."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it?" He let out a breath. "That's a good question. For the moment, nothing, I suppose. Other than watch my back even more carefully than before. Hopefully the man isn't foolish enough to try and carry out some sort of plan now, while we're at war against the darkspawn. Once this business at Ostagar is dealt with, well, I'll have to think about it, won't I?"

"I don't suppose Nicola provided any tangible proof?"

"No, just talk overheard in a tavern. It's credible, though."

"If you believe it, that's good enough for me, but it won't be good enough to bring before the Landsmeet, or deal with in any official way. It's a delicate situation; Eamon holds a reasonable amount of power in the south, and some sway over Cailan." She shrugged. "Of course, I could take care of it quietly for you, if you like."

Her blue eyes were calm, and her expression placid. To look at her, you'd never know she'd just offered to have someone in her employ assassinate the Arl of Redcliffe.

"No. Thank you, but no. I think it's all right to let it sit for a while. I'll watch my back, and try and figure out just why he's come to view me as a threat. In the meantime, I need to focus on dealing with the darkspawn."

"As you wish. But this cannot be ignored indefinitely, and it most certainly will not be forgotten. Eamon will pay for this, one way or another." She paused. "What do you think it's going to take? To deal with the darkspawn, I mean." She rubbed at the palm of her hand with her thumb. "Cailan seems to think it will all be over soon. That the army will defeat all of them in one 'glorious' battle. But Duncan didn't seem so optimistic, and the reports from the south are far worse than anything I had expected."

"It's difficult for me to say," he admitted. "I won't know for certain, not until I see with my own eyes what is happening in the south. I think it will likely take longer than Cailan expects, but I have no doubt that we _will_ end this. Darkspawn die as easily as any other enemy in battle; Rhianna and I discovered that for ourselves last year. With careful planning, and support from the banns and arls - and Bryce Cousland, of course - we will defeat this threat. I swear it."

"I know you will. I just . . . well, I fear it's not going to be an easy road, for any of us." Her brow creased and she tilted her head. "Father?"

She paused, and he lifted a brow at her, as he waited for her to say whatever was on her mind.

She took a breath, and continued, "Are you all right? I feel like we haven't spoken properly in . . . well, in quite some time. After the Landsmeet last year, you left Denerim in what seemed like a hurry. And now, you seem . . . I don't know . . . subdued. Of course, I know you must still be upset over the tragedy of Uthalas' death. But is something else is wrong? Did something happen last year? Why did you leave the city so suddenly?"

His breath caught in his chest. He genuinely was not sure how to answer this question. Did something happen?

Yes, something happened. So many things happened, and other things didn't, and even a year later he still ached inside to think of it.

To think about _her_.

But could he tell Anora the truth? That he'd fallen in love with Rhianna Cousland. That he'd intended to marry her, take her with him to Gwaren. That her father had rejected Loghain's proposal, and everything had fallen apart.

No, of course he wasn't going to tell Anora. How he could he, now that it was all over? Now that anything he'd hoped for with Rhianna was gone forever. Anora knew nothing about this failed relationship, and it would be better for everyone involved if it stayed that way. Thoughts of Rhianna were best left behind, period.

"I'm fine," he assured his daughter. "I'm just focused on this problem in the south." Hopefully she wouldn't notice that he hadn't really answered her question.

Of course, she did.

"But that doesn't explain why you left-"

Movement in the doorway, as Anora's elven lady-in-waiting walked into the room. Erlina had been with Anora for many years now, since just after her marriage to Cailan. Anora had taken the Orlesian woman on while Loghain was at sea, and by the time he returned, she had integrated herself completely into palace life. As a lady-in-waiting, Erlina was impeccable. Her manner was always appropriate. She looked the part, and was always carefully dressed and coiffed. She maintained a perfect balance between efficiency and friendliness and candor. Too perfect, frankly, and Loghain had never quite shaken his suspicion of her. It seemed likely she'd been sent here by Celene as a spy, although Loghain had never been able to uncover any evidence of this.

Either way, Anora was adamant that the woman could be trusted, so Loghain just kept a quiet eye on her. It made him nervous now, though, to think that Anora would be alone in city, with Loghain, Cailan, and the bulk of the army all gone for Maker knows how long. A perfect opportunity for Erlina to strike, if she was indeed an agent of the empress.

Then again, perhaps Celene had given up on such plans. She wasn't responsible for the attack last August, which meant it had been five years since she'd taken any overt action against him, or anyone else in Ferelden. As far as he knew, anyway. That, in and of itself was troubling. Did the empress have something new in mind? Some new way of taking Ferelden back? For surely, that was still her ultimate goal.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," Erlina exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, Your Grace. I had no idea I would be interrupting."

"It's all right, Erlina," Anora reassured. "My father and I were just visiting before he leaves tomorrow."

"Of course." The woman bowed, and began to back out of the room again. "I'll leave you alone, then."

"No need." Loghain pushed himself to his feet. Best to leave now, before Anora had the chance to ask more questions Loghain would prefer not to answer. "I need to take my leave, anyway." He turned to Anora. "There are still a few preparations I should make before morning."

"Of course." She stood, and stepped toward him. Without hesitation, she put her arms around him and pulled him close. He returned her embrace, gratefully. "Be safe, Father," she murmured in his ear. "And come home again, as soon as you can."

When he pulled away, he grasped her chin gently in his hand. "I will, Norrie. I promise."

‹›‹O›‹›

_"Remember the vows that you made to me truly.  
__Remember the bower where you vowed to be mine.  
__Gay is the garland,  
__Fresh are the roses,  
__I've culled from the garden to place upon my brow."__  
_

The woman's voice floated through the night, and brought Loghain out of his reverie. He shifted on the cot, and tried to find a more comfortable position.

Now, they'd been at Ostagar for two months, and Loghain feared he was no closer to keeping his promise to Anora than when they'd arrived. The first battles had gone well. In truth all the battles had gone well. But the darkspawn just kept coming. At some point, probably soon, the king and his armies would be outnumbered. And if they couldn't defeat the darkspawn here, from such a defensible position, how would they stop them if they surged north into the rest of Ferelden?

If that happened, they would need to call upon allies. At least some of the Marcher lords would be willing to send help, if asked, but that was a tricky business, and no one kingdom in the Free Marches had a significant military force. Nevarra, as well, was on friendly terms with Ferelden, but much of their energy was being used to keep their border with Orlais safe, so they were unlikely to have much help to send. There was no significant relationship with either Antiva or Rivain, although they'd be foolish not to send help against darkspawn, if it turned out this was a blight. Asking Orlais was, of course, out of the question.

Loghain wasn't convinced, though, that this truly was a blight. There were a fair number of darkspawn, yes. But no sign of an archdemon. Wouldn't it be leading the horde if this were truly a blight? That's what all the legends said, at any rate.

Even so, with every day that passed, Loghain felt less confident. He still believed that, ultimately, Ferelden would succeed at ridding themselves of the creatures, but he wasn't sure they would be able to defeat the darkspawn, decisively, in a single battle. Under other circumstances, that wouldn't be a problem. With careful planning, they would whittle away at the horde from a well-defended position. It might take a while, but eventually they would succeed.

But Cailan had grown restless, and was insisting they throw all their resources at the horde at once. That the combined might of the armies and the Grey Wardens would be enough to send the darkspawn screaming back underground for once and for all.

Loghain wasn't convinced. For one, there were surprisingly few Grey Wardens. Fewer than two dozen, which seemed ludicrous. While it was somewhat reassuring not to be overrun with Wardens, who were untrustworthy at best, it seemed odd that there were so few, two decades on from when Maric allowed the order back into Ferelden. More to the point, though, Loghain feared that sending all their troops outside of the protection afforded them by the city would leave the armies vulnerable. Much better to continue fighting smaller battles they were guaranteed to win, rather than risking all in a single, "glorious" assault. But Cailan had begun to balk at any battle plan that didn't involve ending this all at once, with him fighting in the vanguard, alongside his beloved Grey Wardens.

It was troubling. Deeply troubling, but Loghain was doing his best to ensure that, if the king did insist on a battle of this nature, they would have the best possible chance to win. Bryce and Howe should be here within the month with a sizable force. And hopefully Eamon would bring his Redcliffe soldiers, although they weren't nearly as numerous as the combined forces of Highever and Amaranthine.

Again, thought of the Arl of Redcliffe brought a frown to Loghain's face. He still had no idea what that bastard was up to. For two months, Loghain had tried to come up with a plausible theory as to why the Arl of Redcliffe would want him dead. Yes, the two men had never gotten along. Eamon made no secret of the fact he thought Loghain was a commoner and a churl whom Maric should never have elevated to the nobility. But surely, that alone could not have motivated Eamon to hire assassins, not thirty years down the road.

So why? Why now? Was he planning something? Something that required Loghain to be out of the way? Perhaps he had some idea about convincing Cailan to set Anora aside. Loghain had heard whispers from various quarters about that. The king and queen had been married five years now, and not managed to produce an heir. Of course, that was almost certainly Cailan's fault, given the number of women he'd bedded, none of whom had conceived a child, but few members of the nobility seemed to consider that possibility. Did Eamon think that, with Loghain out of the way, it would be easier to force Anora off of the throne?

That was the most plausible theory Loghain had come up with, but he was far from convinced. At any rate, there was nothing to be done about it right now. With everyone occupied at Ostagar, no doubt Eamon would put his machinations on hold, and Loghain would have to bide his time and watch his back, and trust that any other assassins the man hired would be as incompetent as the first bunch.

Except they hadn't been _entirely_ incompetent. They'd killed Uthalas.

Loghain ran a hand across his face. Sometimes he still could hardly believe Uthalas was gone. They'd been together for decades. Uthalas was the one person who had stood by Loghain through everything, all those years. And he'd died so pointlessly.

Damn Eamon to the Void.

And it still chilled Loghain to the bone to think about what might have happened if Bryce had given his consent for Loghain and Rhianna to marry.

She would have been with them when they traveled to Gwaren. She would have been there when the assassins attacked. Yes, she was a warrior more than capable of handling herself, but so were Uthalas and the guards who had died. The ambush had been well planned; they'd had no warning at all. Uthalas had fallen from his horse, dead from an arrow in his throat, before Loghain had time to react. If Rhianna had been there, it might have been her throat the arrow had pierced.

Loghain's chest felt hollow and his breath sped up at the mere thought of it. At the thought of any harm coming to her.

Another verse of the song rang through the night air.

_"Through yonder grove by the spring that is running,  
__There you and I have so merrily played.  
__Kissing and courting,  
__And gently sporting.  
__Oh, my innocent heart you've betrayed."__  
_

Anora's voice in his head, again. _Did something happen last year?_

Maker's balls.

He'd known all along it was foolish to fall in love with Rhianna Cousland. She was too young, too charming and cheerful, to ever be truly happy with a man like him. He'd told himself these things over and over again, and yet, when he was with her, he'd ignored all common sense.

Maker knows it was what he wanted. A life with Rhianna. Just the two of them, living in Gwaren far away from Denerim and its petty politics. They would ride out in the woods, and take long walks along the cliffs that overlooked the sea, while birds circled and cried in the air above them, and waves crashed on the rocks below. They would spar on the practice field in the central courtyard of the castle, and keep one another warm during the long winter nights. The people of Gwaren would love her, and she would have been a brilliant teyrna, with her quick mind, and her excellent judgment, and her endless compassion. She would greet townspeople in the streets, and they would smile and wave and dote on her, as the people of Highever had done. And occasionally, when he was foolish enough to allow his mind to wander too far down this path, he imagined Rhianna with an infant in her arms, and a toddler - dark-haired and green-eyed - clutching at her skirt.

That was where these fantasies always ended, though, as his very darkest fears rushed in on the heels of any thought of Rhianna bearing his children.

Fears aside, when he was being honest with himself, he had to admit this was what he wanted. This life with her, all of it, and when, unbelievably, Rhianna had seemed to want it too, Loghain had ignored his doubts and fears, and convinced himself that it could work between them.

Those few weeks in August last year, the weeks they had together, were some of the happiest of his life.

Then Bryce had refused Loghain's offer of marriage, and everything had fallen apart.

At first, Loghain had been furious. Confused and furious. Why on earth would Bryce refuse? Not only was this the best possible political match for Rhianna, but it was what she wanted as well. Loghain had been prepared to argue and cajole and plead, do whatever it took to convince Bryce to agree, for Rhianna's sake as much as Loghain's.

But then Bryce had mentioned Celia. _Would Rhianna someday be abandoned in Gwaren? Like Celia was?_

That had hit like a punch in the gut.

To be reminded of Celia, whom Loghain had failed more spectacularly than anyone else in his entire life. For a fleeting moment, Loghain had thought to argue, to swear that he would never abandon Rhianna the way he'd abandoned his wife.

But the words hadn't come, because, in truth, Loghain couldn't be certain he wouldn't do the same to Rhianna. He loved her, truly, as much as he had ever loved anyone. But he had loved Celia, as well, and that hadn't been enough. When Deirdre died, he'd run away from his wife and his surviving daughter both, unable to face his feelings - his grief and guilt and the inadequacy of not knowing how to fix things. And then later, he'd been too much of a coward to go back. Loghain would never forgive himself for what he'd done to Celia, and he knew that nothing had changed. He was still the same man who had done those things. The same man who had abandoned the wife he loved when she needed him the most.

And of course, talk of Celia brought him face to face with his very worst fears. He would never stop being haunted by memories of his wife's second pregnancy. Her pale face and swollen limbs, the way even climbing the stairs was almost more than she could manage. Her labor, which started too soon. Her agonized screams, and the blood that soaked her clothes and the bed and dripped upon the floor. So much blood. And his tiny daughter, who hadn't lived to see even a single sunset.

His vision blurred, and he ran a hand across his face.

Rhianna wanted children. Of course she did, and as Teyrna of Gwaren it would be seen as her duty to provide an heir. But the thought of it - of pregnancy, and childbirth, and the countless things that could go wrong - just the mere thought of it made his chest hurt, and his stomach feel hollow and nauseous.

When Bryce had mentioned Celia, something inside Loghain shifted. Something dark and ugly and fearful. What if Bryce was right? What if Loghain would fail Rhianna in some similar way, or if being with him would cause her harm? That would be unbearable, and unforgivable.

It had taken the wind out of his arguments, and when Bryce held firm, Loghain hadn't known what to say to try to convince him, and eventually he'd just given up.

He'd left Highever House still furious, but with a whisper in the back of his mind that assured him it was, no doubt, for the best. No matter what fantasy Loghain had constructed in his mind, reality was another matter.

The worst of it was that he had known this all along. He'd had doubts all along, and he should have stopped himself - stopped the both of them - before Rhianna had grown so attached. Maker knows he'd never meant to hurt her; he'd wanted to believe the two of them could have a life together, but he managed that only by selfishly ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him this could never work.

Even so, he'd considered going after her. When he'd gotten her letter, a letter with tears staining the parchment, that told him she and her father were leaving Denerim that morning, he'd nearly saddled his horse and ridden after them. She'd said she didn't care what her father thought about the marriage. That she knew they were meant to be together. That they could wait until she turned eighteen, or that she would go with him now to Starkhaven, where they could marry without Bryce's permission if Loghain didn't want to wait.

But then she'd told him that she loved him.

He'd known it already. Every word she said - every glance, every touch of her hand and every comfortable silence - told him how she felt, but to see the words on the parchment had done something to him. He'd felt the weight of it like never before. This woman, this amazing, precious, beautiful woman _loved_ him, and no part of him deserved such a treasure.

So he hadn't gone after her. He'd needed time. Time to think this through, to clear his head. Time away from her, as he couldn't think straight when she was near. Instead of going after her, he'd left Denerim. It couldn't bear to stay in the city, where everywhere he turned he was reminded of her. He would spend the winter in Gwaren, and decide what he wanted to do. Decide whether or not he wanted to try and convince Bryce to change his mind. That would depend on whether or not Loghain could convince himself he was worthy of Rhianna, after all.

Then, just after they'd entered the Brecilian Pass - Loghain and his footman and a pair of Gwaren guards - they'd been attacked. Ambushed by assassins. Uthalas and the guards were dead almost before Loghain knew what was happening. He managed to kill three of the assassins before the fourth ran off, and then he'd continued to Gwaren on his own.

As Loghain made his way to Gwaren, a single thought was at the forefront of his mind: If Bryce had agreed to the match, Rhianna would have been with them when the assassins attacked.

He had imagined her body, broken and bloody on the dirt of the Brecilian Pass. Her eyes, staring lifelessly into the sky. Her skin pale, her lips grey. He imagined the weight of her body draped across Aeran's back as he carried her to Denerim for the pyre that would consume her, and take her away from him forever.

She'd been in mortal danger before because of Loghain, when Celene's assassins had attacked near the smuggler's cove. This time, the ambush had been executed with even more skill. If they were to marry, she might well become a target herself, if someone thought to get at Loghain by attacking his wife. And of course, there were other ways a beloved wife could die.

Bryce was right. For so many reasons, Loghain was no sort of proper husband for Rhianna. There was no way he could guarantee her safety. Better for her to be safe and happy somewhere far away. And better for Loghain, as well, to know he would not be responsible, yet again, for the death of someone he loved.

Knowing this was for the best didn't stop him from hurting, though. He'd lost not only Rhianna's love and the promise of the future that they might have had together, but her friendship as well. That hurt most of all. What made it so much worse was the knowledge that it was all his fault. All his own stupidity for falling in love with her, and for letting her fall in love with him. He should have known better.

He'd needed to end it with her, for once for all, so he had written, grateful for the geographic distance between them; he would never have been strong enough to say these things to her face. But once he was away from the sound of her voice and the softness of her skin and the quiet comfort of her company, he found the strength.

No doubt, she was unhappy for a time. She had loved him, and even though he had never said it, she had to know how much he loved her. The initial shock would be difficult, but it had to be done. This was what was best for her - best for both of them - in the long run. The last thing he needed was to be torn apart by guilt when he destroyed yet another woman's life. And if some harm came to her because of him, he wasn't sure how he would have lived with himself afterward, knowing that he could have protected her just by staying away.

Of course, now it was all said and done, he had doubts about this, as well. Had he done the right thing?

In the light of day, when he could distract himself with tasks and people and letters and training, then yes. He believed he had done the right thing. Rhianna would be happier with someone else, someone younger. Someone who didn't draw danger to him the way honey drew flies. Surely, he had saved her from an unhappy fate she could never have foreseen, and possibly an early death at the hands of an assassin, or in childbirth.

But on nights like this, when sleep eluded him, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing, he had to face the truth: that he _missed_ her. Missed the way she understood what he was thinking, sometimes before he understood it himself. Missed her laughter, and the way her mind worked. Her wry sense of humor. Of course, he also missed the physical relationship they had shared, so briefly. And when he thought back to what she wrote - that she loved him - he was devastated by the thought of how much his betrayal must have hurt her.

_"How could you slight so a pretty girl who loves you?  
__A pretty girl who loves you so dearly and warm?  
__Though love's folly is  
__Naught but a fancy,  
__Still it should prove sweeter to me than your scorn."__  
_

Rhianna had never written back to him. He had half expected that she would, although he wasn't sure what he thought she would say. Beg him to change his mind? Remind him that she loved him, and demand him to admit he loved her, as well? Vent her rage at the way he had mistreated her? And he did believe he had mistreated her. No matter now much pleasure he had taken from being with her - and he was certain he had given her pleasure, as well - he should never have made love to her. That was foolish and irresponsible. He should have waited until an arrangement was in place with Bryce. But the truth was, he was not sorry. That night had been . . . magnificent in every way, and if he had it to do over, he knew he would want to make love to her again, even if it was for just that one night.

That realization alone was proof of just how selfish and unworthy he truly was. That he could not bring himself to regret making love to her that night, even knowing it added to the pain both of them felt afterwards.

Now he hoped she was all right. She was young, and resilient, and naturally cheerful. Surely, she would not have remained unhappy for too terribly long, but would have put him out of her mind, and moved on with her life.

What news came to him about her indicated this was exactly what she'd done. After Cailan had visited Highever, he'd told stories about sailing and visits to the beach, and it sounded as though Rhianna was fine. More recently, Bryce took her to Orlais, and Cailan had returned from that trip with a wildly improbable story about Rhianna having an affair with some foppish Orlesian noble, a cousin of the empress. Cailan even claimed to have seen them kiss, but Loghain didn't believe it. He knew Rhianna better than that; the thought of her with an Orlesian was ridiculous. Cailan had seemed strange about it though, as though he were personally offended, and Loghain suspected there was more to the story. When pressed, however, the king had made excuses and ended the conversation, and Loghain hadn't been able to get him to speak of it again.

Then, on the day of his birthday, a parcel arrived: a map that she'd sent him from Orlais. A gorgeous map, one of the loveliest he'd ever seen, of the Brecilian Forest. He'd spent an entire afternoon studying it, pouring over every detail, allowing himself a few hours of pleasure - not just of the map, but of the fact that Rhianna had sent it. What had been in her mind at the time? In her heart? He deserved nothing from her but scorn, and still she treated him with something that looked very much like affection.

After a few hours, he'd rolled it up and hidden it away. As beautiful as it was, he didn't want to look at it. Not with the knowledge that her hands had held it, that her fingers had traced its roads and coastlines, that her eyes had lit up with joy at the colors and tiny illustrations. It reminded him too much of her, of the joy she took in small things, and the joy he took in being with her. He even fancied that he caught a whiff of her scent, although that was nonsense. So he'd put it away. Perhaps he would take it out again someday, when these feelings were no longer so raw.

Months later, as her birthday approached, he wondered if he should send something. To let her know he was thinking of her. Of course he was thinking of her. No day went by when he didn't think of her. In the end, however, he'd sent nothing. What would be the point of a gift, or a letter? Why remind of her what was likely a painful episode in her life?

Of course he was well aware she had turned eighteen. Old enough to decide for herself whom she wanted to marry, without requiring her parents' permission. There had been times, late at night as he lay sleepless in his bed, that he considered going to her, or, once he'd arrived in Ostagar, sending a message. Telling her he still loved her. That he still wanted her, and if there was any chance she felt the same, and could forgive him for what he had done . . .

In the light of day, however, he knew this was foolish. Nothing had changed. He was still not worthy of her, and could not promise her any sort of life that would make her happy. And she would always be safer with anyone other than Loghain Mac Tir.

"_Here I now wander alone as I wonder,  
Why did you leave me to sigh and complain?  
__I ask of the roses,  
__Why should I be forsaken?  
__Why must I here in sorrow remain?"__  
_

Surely, she'd stopped loving him long ago. Now, if only he could stop loving her. That was proving difficult, though. He remembered the shooting star they'd seen that last night, from the rooftop of Fort Drakon. What was it he had wished? _To love the woman in my arms, and to always be worthy of her._

He'd failed the second part of that wish spectacularly, but it seemed the first half would always be true. He had loved her then, and he loved her now, no matter how much he'd tried to push her from his mind, and his heart. What point was there in loving a woman who was lost to him? But no matter how hard he pushed, she wouldn't leave. The memory of her smile, of the way her hair framed her face. The curve of her neck, the swell of her perfect breasts . . .

Maker's blood. Just thinking about Rhianna, thinking about that night _did _things to him. To his body. She'd been more beautiful than ever before. The memory of her in the firelight, a hesitant smile as she'd reached up to touch his face. Oh, Maker, she had been so perfect. Everything she did - every smile, every touch, every sound from her throat - had been perfect. He'd had to push her away once for fear she would send him over the edge too soon. And then, the way she had moved beneath him when he pleasured her with his hand, and the way she had given herself to him. "Please," she whispered, and afterward her eyes were warm, and her voice was richer, deeper, and there was a flush to her skin. In all the years he had known her, he'd never seen her look as happy as she looked just then. And to know that he was the cause of that smile, that blush . . .

No. Damn it. He did not want his mind to go down this road right now, did not want his body to respond to those memories.

But it was too late.

Loghain turned onto his side, curled in on himself, annoyed by his body's betrayal. It was bad enough when he dreamt of her in his sleep. And oh, how he had dreamt of her. Dreams filled with candlelight and celebration, of slipping her out of her wedding finery and pulling her close. Of her lips on his skin, her legs wrapped around him. Dreams that left him sweaty and aching and broken when he awoke.

He flipped onto his other side. Yes, it was bad enough when he dreamt of her. The last thing he needed was for those thoughts to intrude on his waking hours, as well.

He considered taking himself in hand, giving himself some small measure of physical satisfaction, but he knew from experience it would leave him empty and hollow. The release wasn't worth how dreadfully alone he felt afterward, when the woman whose face he held in his mind wasn't there in his bed. When he was surrounded not by her warmth, but by cold bedclothes. When the vision of the one night he had spent in her arms faded, and he was faced with the knowledge that he would never know her in that way again.

He flipped onto his stomach, and dug his fingers into the pillow.

Better to just ignore the feelings until they went away. And pray that sleep would come eventually.

_"Thus sang the maiden, her sorrows bewailing.  
__Thus sang the poor maid in the valley below."__  
_

The woman's voice wasn't particularly loud, yet he could hear her song quite clearly. That meant she was nearby. Which also meant . . .

Maker's balls.

The tent closest to Loghain's own was the one that belonged to Cailan. The king was entertaining company.

Of _course_ he was.

_"Oh, don't deceive me,  
__Oh, never leave me,  
__How could you use a young maiden so?"__  
_

At the end of the chorus, the woman burst into throaty laughter, which was quickly muffled. No doubt, she and her companion now had other things on their minds.

Maker damn him.

Loghain guessed that sleep would be a long time in coming.

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Many thanks to Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, my fabulous beta readers, and to all my lovely reviewers, as well: Kateskates24, Skidney, Hannahnobnob, KrystylSky, KatDancer2, Milly-finalfantasy, Tyrannosaurustex, Watcht0wer, SwomeeSwan, and a couple of Guests.

"Early One Morning" is a traditional English folk song. I haven't recorded my own version, but you'll find many renditions of it at Youtube. For a particularly lovely one, just google "Early One Morning Harpe" and it should be the first hit.

There's a new chapter in "Glimpses into the Darkness:" a vignette featuring Fergus and nine-year-old Rhianna on a camping trip, so you might check it out for just a little bit of fluff (although I can't promise it won't be bittersweet, with hindsight). ;)

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	5. Completely alone in this world

_**12 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Mountains near West Hill**__**  
**_

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Rhianna awoke to movement at her side; she opened her eyes to discover it was still the middle of the night. Beside her in the bedroll, Duncan appeared to be in the throes of a nightmare, as had happened every night they'd been on the road so far. He moaned softly and thrashed back and forth, as though doing battle with someone in his sleep.

"Duncan." She grasped his shoulders. "Duncan, wake up." She shook him, her voice quiet, but urgent.

With a gasp, he sat up, and Rhianna had to duck out of the way to avoid being knocked backwards.

"It's all right," she soothed, and put a hand on his shoulder. "You were dreaming again, that's all."

He panted softly through his open mouth, his eyes unfocused and filled with something that looked like terror. "Maker," he swore softly. He closed his eyes and struggled to control his breath.

Dane looked up, briefly, and then returned his head to his front paws and went back to sleep.

"That sounded like a bad dream," Rhianna said. "A very bad dream. Was it darkspawn again?"

"Yes." He rubbed a hand across his face. "All my nightmares are about darkspawn."

Rhianna placed the palm of her hand against his face; his beard was rough, and his skin slightly clammy. Even though she was still angry with him for the way he'd dragged her away from Highever, she didn't like to watch him suffer.

"Is this usual?" she asked. "To dream about them every night?"

"No." He covered her hand with one of his own as he took a deep breath and let it out again. "Not until recently, anyway. I suppose that lately, I have been dreaming about them more often." He met her gaze, and his eyes were sharp, no longer so haunted. "I'm sorry for waking you, Rhianna. Maker knows you need your sleep."

"Don't worry about me." Her words weren't meant merely to comfort; they were sincere. She had managed surprisingly well, considering all that had happened.

For the past three days, she and Duncan made their way toward West Hill. After the first night they spent in the mountains, she'd awoken utterly disoriented and confused, and when she came fully awake and everything flooded back, it had hurt so intensely she'd found it difficult to breathe. She'd forced herself not to cry, terrified that if her tears started she would not be able to get herself back under control. Instead, she got up, and forced down the breakfast Duncan had offered. Then, her mind had spun out of control about just what she would do next.

Of course, as far as Duncan was concerned, they were traveling to Kinloch Hold and then to Ostagar. But that first morning, Rhianna had an almost uncontrollable urge to turn around and take the road into the Bannorn, following the route her brother had taken. He was marching with an army. Surely even on foot, Rhianna could catch up with them if she moved at a good pace. They couldn't have gone far, not in just a day and a half, and if she caught up with them now, they could march back to Highever, and retake the castle.

As soon as the thought came into her head, though, she began to have doubts. For one thing, it might not even be possible, not yet. No doubt, Howe had the whole of the Amaranthine Regulars on hand to defend the castle, and the Highever Regulars were not prepared to make any sort of extended siege, especially not with Cailan expecting them in the south. On top of that, Rhianna wasn't sure she wanted to return to Highever just yet. Even if they could retake the castle, it wouldn't bring her parents back, or Oriana and Oren, or any of the others who had died. To be honest, the thought of returning there now, and facing so much death and destruction, was terrifying.

In the end, what decided it was the weather. Literally overnight, the last vestiges of summer had fled. The sky was overcast, and while it hadn't begun to rain on the mountain, the clouds that hovered above the lowlands were dark and ominous. No doubt, the Bannorn was experiencing its first winter storm, which invariably brought with it flooding and mud and washed out roads. Fergus would be fortunate to stay ahead of it on his way to Ostagar. To try and get the army back to Highever now would be dangerous, perhaps even impossible, until spring.

So she'd merely penned a short letter and sent it with Gwyn: a warning to Fergus to be cautious of any riders that approached, especially if they claimed to be from Amaranthine. She said there were rumors of assassins, which wasn't even close to the truth, but she could hardly tell him what had really happened, not in a letter. That news needed to be delivered face to face. So, she prayed to Andraste that this warning would keep him safe until she caught up with him in Ostagar.

Since then, she had traveled obediently alongside Duncan, and they made good time through the mountains. Since Duncan wasn't particularly talkative, Rhianna set a vigorous pace, pushing her body just hard enough to keep her mind distracted, and stave off the grief that pulled at her, constantly. To his credit, Duncan kept up without complaint.

He would converse with her in the evenings, when they stopped to camp. Sometimes, she asked questions and he would usually answer them, as long as she didn't ask about the Grey Wardens. In spite of the fact she'd been conscripted into the order, he refused to tell her much of anything about them. When he asked questions of her, they seemed carefully chosen as unlikely to trigger unhappy memories. Perhaps that was why he was quiet the rest of the time. It was probably difficult to think of things to talk about, considering Rhianna's family had been killed, her home destroyed, and the only life she had ever known was gone forever. So, she didn't take offense at his lack of conversation during the days.

After all, it wasn't as though she desired further intimacy with the man. She hadn't trusted him the first time they met, that day in the Bannorn after she and Loghain found the burnt-out farm. And now, he'd knocked her out and literally dragged her away from her family so he could claim her for the Grey Wardens, none of which improved her opinion of him.

Still, on the whole, traveling with him was . . . comfortable. He was courteous, but didn't coddle. That was good. If he'd been kind, if he'd tried to comfort her or talk to her about what had happened, she doubted she could have held herself together. So, she was grateful he kept his distance.

Strangely enough, she was grateful for the minor physical discomforts of traveling, as they helped keep her mind distracted, as well. By the second day, without the usual layer of linen between her body and the leather, her skin had chafed beneath her armor. And of course, she stank, of perspiration and dried blood. When they'd stopped that evening, she'd done her best to bathe in the icy waters of the stream beside their camp, but it was uncomfortable and impossible to do a thorough job. Her hair, especially, was troublesome, and afterwards, as she shivered in camp and tried to comb it with her fingers, she realized there was no way this was going to work. It was knotted and dirty and smelled foul.

So she gathered it up in a queue at the back of her neck, and, without thinking about it first, sawed through it with her dagger.

Afterward, she held more than a foot's length of hair in her hand, and what was left behind didn't quite touch her shoulders. Never before had her hair been this short, not that she could remember. When she shook her head, it felt strange and off-balance, and her breath sped up as tears threatened.

"Rhianna?" There was surprise in Duncan's voice. "I would have done that for you, if I'd known you wanted it cut."

She wasn't able to answer right away; she merely stared at the strands of hair in her hand.

What had she done? She'd always loved her hair. It was one of her best features, and she loved the way it felt under her hands when she brushed it, and how it smelled when it was clean. She loved having other people comb it, or braid it. She'd been so proud of it, and now, just like that, it was gone.

Belatedly, she responded to Duncan's comment. "Thank you, but it's . . . it's all right. I just needed it to be gone. I won't be able to take care of long hair, not while we're traveling like this."

Again, she glanced at the hair still clutched in her hand. Perhaps she could sell it. No doubt, she'd soon need the money.

That was something she'd never worried about before: money. She'd always had as much as she'd needed. Now, she had just the handful of coins that had been tucked into a pouch in her armor, and the jewels she had salvaged from the vault.

Perhaps it wouldn't matter. As a Grey Warden, surely her living expenses would be covered, or she'd receive a stipend, or . . . something. To be honest, she'd always been a bit vague about money.

Either way, it seemed foolish to throw away her hair when it might prove valuable, so she tucked it safely away.

‹›‹O›‹›

Now, in the middle of the night, she studied Duncan's face. He looked haggard, and his eyes were still bright from whatever horrors he had witnessed in that dream. She could see his breath in the cold, and there was no sign of the sky beginning to lighten in the east; it was too early to pack up camp and start traveling.

"Will you be able to get back to sleep?" she asked.

"Eventually, yes. I just need a . . . few minutes to clear my mind." He lay down on his back, and rubbed at his eyes.

Rhianna lay on her side, and propped herself up on one elbow. "Do you want to talk about it? Would that help?"

"I . . . I don't know. Perhaps." He breathed in deeply, and released it with a ragged sigh. "It was the archdemon. Again."

"You dream about the archdemon? Have you ever even seen it?"

His eyes found hers. "Yes. I have seen the archdemon. It's . . . well, you have to understand that these are not merely dreams. Grey Wardens dream of darkspawn - and the archdemon - and sometimes these dreams are real. So yes, I have seen him."

"I don't understand. How can being a Grey Warden have any effect on your dreams?"

He hesitated, and then shook his head, as if to clear it. "I suppose," he began slowly, "there's no harm in telling you a few things. To become a Warden, there is a ritual that gives us certain abilities that allow us to effectively hunt the darkspawn. Along with these gifts, there are side effects. Dreams, for example, that come from the connection that forms between the mind of the Warden, and the minds - collectively - of the darkspawn. When the archdemon 'talks' to the horde, Wardens can hear it too."

Rhianna forced herself not to sit up straighter. This was interesting, and it was the first time Duncan had been willing to answer any of her questions about the Wardens. She didn't want to do anything that might interrupt, or cause him to stop talking.

"That's how I know this is really a blight," he added, "even though the archdemon has not yet appeared on the surface. I hear Urthemiel in my dreams, almost every night, talking to the horde, although I can't understand what he says. Eventually, you'll have dreams like this, too."

Except . . . she'd already dreamt of a dragon.

"Are you sure it's connected to this ritual?"

"Yes. Quite sure." He raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just . . ." She chewed at her bottom lip. "It's probably nothing, but not long ago, I had a dream. About a dragon. A huge dragon, under the ground. He tried to talk to me, but I can't remember what he said."

Duncan sat up, and leaned closer. "You dreamt of a dragon? What did it look like?"

"It was enormous. Other than that, I'm not sure? Everything was dark, so far underground. I felt like countless tons of rock pressed down from above. But maybe it was black? Or very dark red, and it had horns on its head, and huge claws."

He studied her face. "How many times did this happen?"

"Just the once, I think, although I'm not sure. Sometimes I have nightmares about being trapped underground. I've had them for years. Most of the time, I don't really remember much about them in the morning, and at first I thought that's what this was – another dream about being locked in a dungeon. So maybe it happened other times, and I just didn't realize."

He continued to study her face, his eyes narrow and thoughtful.

"Do you think it means something?" she asked.

"I don't know." Again, he settled himself on his back.

When he didn't close his eyes, she decided to press her luck, and see if he'd reveal any more about the Wardens. "You said there is a ritual. What sort of ritual?"

He glanced at her, briefly. "You'll find that out soon enough. I've already said more than I should. The Grey Wardens have worked hard to keep these things, and others, secret for many centuries."

"Secret?" All this secrecy was wearing on her patience. "Why is everything so secret? What could be so horrible that you can't tell people before they agree to join?"

He didn't answer, didn't even bother turning his gaze upon her. He just stared up into the sky.

"In any case," she continued, "what does it matter what you tell me? I've been conscripted, haven't I? I don't have any choice but to go through this ritual of yours. Unless you intend to give me a choice after all?"

"No, I don't."

"Then what harm is there in telling me?"

After all, she was being forced into something she had not wanted, to which she had not agreed, but here she was anyway. She could have run away from him in the middle of the night, gone anywhere she liked. Gone to her brother, or Queen Anora in Denerim, or Empress Celene in Orlais. Gone to Ostagar ahead of Duncan and convinced the king to protect her. But here she was, and Duncan still wouldn't answer her questions?

"Are you afraid I'll refuse to go through with it if I know the truth?"

"Yes, actually. I am."

Oh. "How bad can it be?" she murmured. "Isn't it just swearing some sort of oath? Is there a . . . test, of some kind?"

He sighed. "The ritual - we call it the 'Joining' - only takes a few minutes, but there is slightly more to it than swearing an oath. It is this Joining that gives us the abilities that allow us to effectively hunt darkspawn. The Joining is . . . dangerous, and I cannot speak more of it. Please, Rhianna. I know you're curious, and you will know everything, soon enough. Until then, you must trust that everything the Grey Wardens do - the ritual, and the secrecy - is necessary. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Now, as he looked up at the sky, his face had that closed-off look he got when he no longer wanted to talk about Warden business.

She didn't know what else to say, so she lay on her back as well, and took in the view of what looked like a million stars against the dark velvet background of the night sky.

When Duncan spoke, his voice was calm again. "Look there," he said. "It's Andruil."

"Andruil? What's that?"

He leaned close to her, and pointed into the sky. "Do you see that very bright star right there?" He moved his arm slightly to the right. "And the three others that form a sort of square?"

She squinted up at the sky until she saw which stars he meant. "Yes. I see them."

Then he pointed to the right, and up. "And those two stars, and that very bright one there, just above the square? That's Andruil, the elven goddess of the hunt."

"The elves named their own patterns in the sky? I didn't know that. What is Andruil supposed to be, anyway? Is she an elf?"

"She takes the form of a deer," Duncan replied, and traced an imaginary line with his finger. "You see, the square is her body, and those are her legs, and her head is just there."

"Yes, I see. Well, sort of." Star patterns never looked exactly like what they were supposed to be, after all. "I never knew there were elven constellations. I only know the Avvarian ones. Like Sigfost, the Great Bear." She scanned the night sky and found the familiar pattern. "There he is," she pointed, "with his soup ladle for a body."

"Ah, yes," Duncan replied.

"And there is Nathramar, the great serpent." Rhianna pointed to a trio of white stars, and then a dim red one, followed by a curving line of stars that made up the tail of the snake. "Do you know that story? It was Nathramar's battle with Korth the Mountain Father that destroyed a huge mountain that once stood at the center of the world."

"I have heard that story," Duncan replied. "In fact, there are some who think that Loch Kin is what now remains at the site where Belenas once stood. And that it's waters are magical, because they came from the tears of the Lady of the Skies. She was so distraught at the destruction that she wept and wept until the entire crater had been filled."

"Loch Kin?"

"Otherwise known at Lake Calenhad. The very place we're headed."

Rhianna glanced at the Warden commander. "Lake Calenhad once sat at the center of the world? It doesn't seem very central. We're rather at bottom of things here in Ferelden, I should think."

Duncan chuckled. "Well, perhaps things were arranged differently, long ago."

"Perhaps they were," she agreed. "Years ago, Loghain gave me a pendant which was made from . . . well, I guess it was the body of a creature that had turned to stone. An animal that lived many, many hundreds, maybe even thousands of years ago." The memory gave her an ache; that pendant had been tucked away in the false bottom of a chest in her room, and was now gone, along with almost everything else she had ever owned. "He called it an ammonite, and the man who sold it to him said it was a sea creature, but that he'd found the thing at the top of a mountain in the Hunterhorns. Said it was proof that once all of Thedas had been underwater. I suppose if that is true, there's no reason Lake Calenhad couldn't have been the center of the world at some point."

"Indeed."

"Do you know any other elven constellations?" Rhianna asked.

"Let's see . . . ah! There's one. Fen'Harel, the dread wolf."

"The _dread_ wolf? Is that one of their gods? It sounds rather awful. I take it the elves don't revere wolves the way we do here in Ferelden?"

"I suppose he is somewhat awful. He's also called the Lord of Tricksters, and Bringer of Nightmares. It's said that he betrayed the gods, and managed to trap all of them in their respective realms, so they could no longer influence the people of this world. He trapped the gods of terror and spite known as the Forgotten Ones - which might have been seen as a blessing - but he also trapped the benevolent ones. That, they say, is why Arlathan fell - because the elven gods were locked away and unable to prevent the city from being destroyed."

"Arlathan - that was the city of the elves, in the forests north of Antiva?"

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "Another place that was known as the 'center of the world,' at one time. At least until humans arrived in Thedas, bringing with them diseases and war. The elves lost their immortality, and eventually Arlathan was destroyed, probably at the hands of the Tevinters - their magic and their dragons. Although no one now knows exactly how - or why - it happened."

"The elves have never had an easy time of things, have they?" Rhianna said, more to herself than to Duncan. "Are there others? Elven gods looking down at us from the sky?"

"There are others, but none I can see at the moment," Duncan replied. "Remind me another time, just after night falls, and we will look for ones that are hidden below the horizon just now."

"I will." As she propped herself up again, she realized that she actually felt . . . all right, for the first time in days. Not happy, but not unhappy, either. "I know a few others I don't see tonight. The Lady of the Skies, who takes the form of a huge swan. And Imhar. He's a trickster as well. I'm not sure he's my favorite, though. I sometimes wonder if he had something to do with King Maric disappearing at sea."

"What's this? What could an Avvarian trickster god have to do with the king's disappearance?"

Rhianna chuckled. "Nothing, probably, and it's just me being foolish. But not long before his ship was diverted from Wycome, and sank north of Seheron, we'd found an amulet buried in the hills near Highever. It had an image of Imhar on it, and was one of the ugliest things I'd ever seen, but Maric liked it, and kept it, and I could never decide if Imhar tried to help Maric when he was lost at sea, or if perhaps Imhar was the one who had caused his troubles in the first place." She shrugged. "I suppose it's more likely that Imhar had absolutely nothing to do with any of it, and it was the Orlesians, or the Antivan Crows, or the Qunari who interfered with Maric's ship. Nothing to do with gods or goddesses whatsoever." She paused. "Certainly nothing to do with the Maker," she muttered to herself. "He never does anything useful."

Duncan looked up at her. "You knew the old king?"

"Yes. King Maric and I were friends. We used to go riding together, and have tea parties at the palace, that sort of thing." Smiling at the memory of one particular tea party years ago, Rhianna lay on her back again, and tried to memorize the patterns Duncan had just shown her.

"And," Duncan continued, "I had the feeling you were well-acquainted with Teyrn Loghain at one time, were you not?"

An awkward question, but of course Duncan would wonder; he'd seen her and Loghain come out of a shared room at an inn in the Bannorn almost a year ago. Rhianna continued to look into the sky, and forced her expression to remain neutral. "Yes. Loghain and I were . . . very close, once upon a time. I haven't seen him since just after the Landsmeet, though." She paused. "Although I suppose I'll see him when we arrive in Ostagar."

Oh. That was a startling thought that hadn't occurred to her until now. A not entirely comfortable thought, but not bad, either.

She would see Loghain again.

What on earth would she say to him? What, if anything, would he have to say to her?

Memories of Loghain began to flood into her mind: the way the sun hit his hair when they were at the top of Teyrn's Peak, and he'd asked her to marry him. His warmth as he wrapped her in his cloak after pulling her out of that dungeon cell. The weight of his body, the feel of his bare skin against hers when they made love . . .

No. No, no, no. She didn't want to think about Loghain right now, nor, Maker forbid, talk about him further with Duncan.

"So," she asked, needing to change the subject, "how did you come to join the Grey Wardens? I assume you've been a Warden for many years?"

"Yes, more than twenty years, now." He fell silent, and turned his head toward her, briefly, but then looked into the sky again. Rhianna thought he meant to ignore the rest of her question, but then he continued. "I was living in Val Royeaux. Not much younger than you are now, come to think of it. Just shy of my eighteenth birthday. I had been living on my own for a while already, and at times it was difficult to make ends meet."

"Living on your own? What happened to your parents?"

"They were dead. My mother had died giving birth to my baby sister, who didn't survive, either. So, for a couple of years it was just my father and I. He did his best to manage without her. He was a carpenter - quite a good one - but I . . . well, I was rather wild. I know I didn't make things easy for him. And then he died, too, taken by the plague, and I had to fend for myself."

"How old were you then?"

"Fifteen. Not so young that I couldn't have found some . . . legitimate way of taking care of myself."

"But you didn't? Find some legitimate way? How did you survive?"

"Picking pockets, mostly."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "You were a . . . thief?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "A pickpocket, and a burglar, as well. It was a burglary, in fact, that led me to the Grey Wardens. I'd broken into a room at an inn, thinking I'd be in and out before anyone was the wiser, but the occupant of the room returned before I was finished. We fought over a ring. I knew it was valuable, and needed the coin it would bring; it had been a very hard winter. But he had bought it for the woman he was to marry, and wasn't willing to let me get away with it."

"What happened?" Rhianna asked.

"I killed him."

That was an unexpected revelation.

"I didn't intend to kill him, but I had my dagger at his throat, and . . . well, it hardly matters what my intentions were. The fact is that I slit his throat, and he died. And I ended up in the gallows for his murder."

"Wait." For a moment, she thought she couldn't have possibly heard him correctly. "You were going to be hanged? For murder? How in the world did you end up with the Grey Wardens after that?"

"The night before my execution was to take place, a woman came to my cell. A woman called Genevieve, the Warden Commander of Orlais. She asked me if I wanted to join."

"What? Why would the Grey Wardens want a murderer? I thought the Wardens were all great heroes. That it was an honor to be chosen, and the order only recruited the very best."

"They do. But . . . the Wardens have their own definition of 'best.'"

"Apparently." She found this turn in the conversation unsettling. "So how did an orphaned Orlesian cutpurse qualify for the 'honor' of joining the Wardens?"

"Genevieve sensed in me the qualities that a Grey Warden must possess in order to fight the darkspawn. Some level of ability with weapons, or magic. In my case, I was also quite nimble. And strength, as well. Strength enough to survive what it takes to become a Grey Warden. The same things I sensed in you, the first time we met."

She considered what he had said. "You're talking about this ritual, aren't you? This . . . Joining? Having the strength to withstand it . . . does that mean not everyone survives?"

"That is correct," he admitted.

Whatever brief pleasure she had felt while they talked about the stars was gone.

"So this ritual might kill me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose that explains why you didn't want to talk about it,," she said, her tone deliberately light. The thought frightened her, although perhaps not as much as it should. The ritual might kill her, but would that really be so bad? It wasn't as though she had anything much to live for. Her home was gone, her family, everyone she loved . . . gone.

"Did this commander – Genevieve - did she tell you the truth about it before you agreed to join? That the ritual might kill you?"

"No. She did not tell me the truth about it. Nor did I agree to join."

Rhianna blinked in surprised. "You were on the gallows, and you refused her offer? Why in the world . . .?"

Duncan let out a sigh. "The man I had killed was a Grey Warden. He was, in fact, betrothed to the commander who came to me in my cell. The ring I had stolen was intended for her finger. And just before he died, when he realized I genuinely meant to kill him, he stopped struggling. His last words to me were, 'Thank you.'" Duncan's voice was barely more than a whisper. "And I wondered what sort life he must have had, to thank his murderer."

He fell silent, and Rhianna was at a loss for words. Just what sort of life was it that was being forced upon her?

Finally, she said, "But what of the commander? Why would she spare your life, knowing you killed the man she loved?"

He made a sound, deep in his throat. "I suspect she conscripted me as a punishment. One she considered would be a fate worse than death."

A knot tightened in Rhianna's stomach. "And was it?" she murmured. "A fate worse than death?"

She sensed him turn toward her, but she was afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid of what she might see there. Instead, she continued to look up into the sky.

"No." His voice was calm, and firm. "It was not a fate worse than death. I have seen, and done, more than my share of horrible things, but there has been joy as well, and love, and a great deal of satisfaction. I've had a good life as a Grey Warden. And it is my hope that you will, as well."

Now she turned, and held his gaze. His brow was smooth, his eyes clear. Although he didn't smile, he looked as sincere as she had ever seen him. He really didn't mean this to be a punishment, or a death sentence.

Her breath caught in her throat. Just what would this life bring to her? What did it mean, to be a Grey Warden? There were things she wanted to know, questions she wanted to ask, but there were so many she had no idea where to start. And it seemed likely that Duncan had said as much on the subject as he intended to, for the time being at least.

So, she would continue to do as she'd done these past few days: take each day as it arrived, and try not to worry about how she would face what came next. If this Joining ritual was as dangerous as Duncan suggested, perhaps she wouldn't have to make her way through too terribly many more days.

There was something comforting about that thought.

"That reminds me." He sat up, and dug into one of the pockets in his pack. "I have something I've been meaning to give you . . . if I can find it." He continued to rummage. "Ah ha," he muttered.

He held out his hand; in his palm was a ring, one Rhianna recognized instantly.

Her father's signet ring.

She felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. "Where did you get this?"

"Your father gave it to me, just before I carried you out of the castle. He wanted you to have it. To give to your brother, I suppose. No doubt he'll be the teyrn, eventually."

She reached out, and plucked it from his hand. The metal was cool against her fingers, but the stone - an onyx, as black as a starless night sky - felt slightly warm to the touch. Father always wore this ring, always. She couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it on his finger. And now she held it in her hand, and he was dead and she would never see him again. Never hear his voice again. Never see his eyes light up at the sight of his daughter. Never kiss his wife, when he thought no one was around to see. Never watch his grandson grow into a man, the grandson whose own life had been cut so dreadfully short.

She sobbed once as her vision blurred, and she blinked furiously to fight back the sudden tears. She wouldn't cry. She would not cry.

She wouldn't.

"Thank you." She slipped the ring onto her thumb. She didn't intend to wear it all the time, but for this one night at least she wanted to keep it close.

"You're welcome." He yawned. "I think I might be able to go back to sleep now. Thank you for keeping me company. I feel . . . calmer than I did before."

"You're welcome," she replied. "And thank you for . . . telling me things. Some things, anyway."

He nodded, and turned his back to her as he settled himself in the bedroll.

An almost overwhelming wave of grief washed over her.

Everything had fallen apart. The darkspawn in the south. Highever, destroyed. An archdemon arisen, even if only Grey Wardens could see it, and then only in their dreams. As much as she had suffered at the loss of Loghain, and then Gauvain, those things were easy in comparison to what lay ahead for her now.

She was more alone than she had been at any time in her life. In the past, even when she had felt alone and scared, she had always known there were people there for her, people who loved her. Her family. Loghain. The knowledge that she would never see them again, that they were gone forever, that nothing would bring them back, made her want to stop breathing. She ached inside from missing her father and her mother. The thought of Oren hurt more than she could have ever imagined anything hurting. They were gone, all except Fergus and she was so afraid for him that she didn't like to think about that, either. For all she knew, he was already dead, murdered in the dark of night while the Highever Regulars slumbered around him.

Then, tonight, for those few minutes, she had felt a connection with another person. With Duncan, while he showed her the constellations and told her their stories, and talked to her about Grey Warden secrets. But now, as he turned his back on her, that connection slipped away, and she was overcome with sadness.

She was alone, except for Dane and Gwyn.

And she would need to grow accustomed to this feeling, because the people she loved were never coming back.

Duncan's shoulder rose and fell with each breath, and Rhianna had an urge to reach out to him. She just wanted to be held, to burrow in to another person's warm embrace. She didn't want anything more from him. Not sex, or anything romantic. Nothing more than a few minutes of physical closeness.

Would that be so wrong? To take a tiny bit of comfort where she found it, and perhaps give some comfort in return? If nothing else, her presence might keep Duncan's nightmares at bay.

For the first time, she didn't turn her back on him as she prepared to go to sleep. Instead, she scooted closer and reached her arm across his body.

As though it were a reflex that required no thought on his part, Duncan rolled onto his back, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. Rhianna rested her face on his chest, and allowed her eyes to close.

His heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, and for those few minutes, as she drifted back to sleep, Rhianna was able to pretend she wasn't completely alone in this world.

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_Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: __Kateskates24, Milly-finalfantasy, KatDancer2, Skidney, KrystylSky, DjinniGenie, Chrismasters, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyrannosaurustex, Hannahhobnob, SwomeeSwan, and Psyche Sinclair. _

_A quick note about where this story is going: I know many of you are eager for Rhianna to get to Ostagar (I'm eager for that, as well – a lot of exciting things are going to happen in Ostagar!), but it's going to be a few chapters yet before that happens. (Four chapters, I think). Rhianna and Duncan still have a few adventures ahead of them, and we'll be meeting some new people, too, along the way. In the spirit of getting us to Ostagar quickly, though, I'm going to try and get these next few chapters posted a bit sooner than my usual schedule (ideally, two per week, if I can manage). Also, I'm going to post something to "Glimpses" very soon, so keep an eye out for that. _

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	6. A noble lady like you

**_12 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
West Hill_**

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From the time it was built in the Towers Age, West Hill's position on the Waking Sea made it an ideal place from which to watch for pirates. During the height of threats from the sea - marauding corsairs from Orlais and beyond during the Storm Age - thousands of people inhabited the huge warren of tunnels and towers. Calenhad, long before he was king, had an important victory here in the Exalted Age, and in 8:99 Blessed, one of the most devastating losses of Maric's rebellion was fought here.

Now, however, West Hill was only a shadow of the grand fortress it had once been. Only a few hundred people lived here, and much of it was no longer in use. It was dark and dismal, all musty hallways and abandoned towers. Unsurprisingly, it was also rumored to be haunted, a rumor Rhianna could well believe.

In spite of its proximity to Highever, Rhianna had done her best to avoid West Hill over the years, and had only been inside the walls a few times. As they approached the huge metal gates, she was apprehensive.

"I hope this isn't a mistake. Do you think Howe's men are still looking for me? They've had plenty of time to ride ahead. What if they're waiting for us in the fortress, with some plan to try and trap us?"

"I've no doubt they'll be waiting for us," Duncan replied. "Howe will have to manufacture some story about what happened in Highever, so he won't want you running around with full knowledge of the truth. Even so, I don't see that we have much choice. You need gear, we're running low on other supplies, and it's another four days to Kinloch Hold."

"That's true. I suppose if nothing else it will be good to sleep in a bed for one night. Assuming we can stay the night?" She gave him a hopeful glance.

"Yes, I thought we'd spend one night in the inn. There is an inn, I trust?"

"Just one, as far as I know. This isn't a popular tourist destination. It's rather horrible really. Have you been here before?"

"No, I've never been inside the city walls. I've only ridden past."

"Well, you'll see. It's incredibly dreary. But I won't mind spending the night, so long as they'll fill a tub with hot water for me. I can't think of anything that would be more welcome right now than a proper bath."

"Fair enough," Duncan chuckled. "Who controls West Hill?"

"Franderel is the name of the bann. I don't know him very well. He's one of my father's vassals-" She caught herself. "I mean, he _was_ one of my father's vassals. But he spends most of his time in Denerim. Chances are he's not even here in the city, and even if he were, I wouldn't feel comfortable going to him for assistance."

"That's unfortunate. It would have been good to find some support here."

They passed through the main gates to find the fortress city much as Rhianna remembered. Under the overcast sky, the city appeared grey and brown, and the earlier rains had left everything damp and drafty, dingy and slightly malodorous.

Rhianna was glad they wouldn't be staying long.

Once in town, they went straight to the market square, wanting to make sure they bought what they needed before the shopkeepers closed up for the night. Rhianna found a wigmaker to buy the queue of hair she'd lopped off with her dagger, and bought some new clothes - shirts, trousers, a warm cloak, a linen nightgown, and garments to wear under her armor. She didn't bother with a proper gown; it seemed unlikely she would need one anytime soon. If this was to be a war, she'd just live in her armor. She also bought herself a backpack and a bedroll, so she and Duncan would no longer have to share one at night, as well as a set of lock picks.

As they shopped, she kept an eye on the people nearby; so far, no one appeared to be paying her any special attention, and there were no faces she recognized, or soldiers in Amaranthine livery.

After she'd bought the necessities, and the one luxury she'd allowed herself - the nightgown - Rhianna wandered into the armorer's shop and looked at the selection of weapons. There was a bow that felt incredibly good in her hands, made of whitewood, and crafted unlike anything she'd seen before.

"That looks to be of elven make," Duncan commented when he saw it. "Made by the Dalish, I should think."

"How in the world did a Dalish longbow find its way here?" Rhianna mused aloud. She raised the weapon, and pulled back the bowstring as if she had an arrow nocked. It pulled smoothly in her hands, as though she'd be able to shoot faster than ever before. Unfortunately, she'd spent nearly all her coin, and wasn't ready to start selling off the jewels she'd taken from the family treasury. So, she suppressed a small sigh, and handed it back to the merchant.

"Do you want that?" Duncan asked. "I seem to recall you did well with a bow when you and Teyrn Loghain fought darkspawn in the Bannorn."

Rhianna shrugged. "I don't need it."

"I didn't ask if you need it. Do you want it?"

She glanced at him, and he lifted a brow.

"Yes. I suppose I do."

Duncan paid for the bow, along with some of the other things they needed, and Rhianna was cheered by the new weapon in her hands. She was good with a bow, after all, in spite of all Loghain's protestations of her laziness.

Loghain.

After the thought occurred to her the previous night, she could not stop thinking about the fact that he would be at Ostagar. No matter how much she tried to put him behind her, she just couldn't. She still loved him, although it no longer ached quite as badly as it once had. She was fairly certain she would never completely stop loving him, not after having him in her heart for such a long time.

The prospect of seeing him again was daunting. It had been a whole year. A year in which she had heard nothing from him, had no word, no letter. Nothing at all, from the man who had been her best friend for years, and, briefly, her lover. She did want to see him. Of course she wanted to see him. Surely, there would never come a time when she would not want to see him. Even so, she was nervous, and perhaps a bit frightened. He didn't love her. That much, she had accepted. But what if he wanted nothing to do with her at all? What if he was cold toward her, or turned away, unwilling even to talk? That would break her heart all over again.

Perhaps it would be better to keep her distance, and just not speak to him at all. That should be easy enough, considering how many people were at Ostagar, but the thought of deliberately avoiding him hurt almost as much as any of the other options.

She let out a breath. There was no need to decide right now; she had another few weeks before she would need to face that hurdle.

As soon as she and Duncan bought all the supplies they needed, they found the inn. It was ancient and dimly lit inside, but appeared clean, and the innkeeper was friendly. Rhianna still hadn't seen any sign of soldiers who appeared to be in Howe's command; then again, they wouldn't wear their shields if they were hoping not to be noticed.

Rhianna and Duncan sat at a table in the corner as they waited for their food to be served. There wasn't much business in the tavern; probably, it was like this most nights considering how few people lived in West Hill, and that fewer still ever came to visit. How was it a place like this managed to survive?

Still, that it had survived seemed a good thing. It might be needed again, perhaps in the all-too-near future. The fortress was still sound, and if the darkspawn managed to break through the king's armies . . .

No. That was a thought that didn't bear finishing.

Was this was it meant to be a Grey Warden? Always thinking of the worst-case scenario, always thinking about new ways to defeat the ever-present enemy?

Perhaps there were even Wardens who looked forward to what was happening in Ferelden. After all, four hundred years had passed since the last Blight. Were there Wardens who had never even seen darkspawn? Probably not. The darkspawn had always been there, under the ground and probably on the surface from time to time. No doubt the Wardens had contact with darkspawn all along; it was just the rest of us who never saw them, and were allowed to live in blissful ignorance.

Those days were over for Ferelden.

The food they had ordered arrived, but before Rhianna could take her first bite, a man approached the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but she wasn't sure if she'd met him before, or if he merely resembled someone else she knew.

He certainly acted as though he knew her; without any hesitation, or a pause to ask permission, he slid into one of the empty chairs at their small table. He was tall, with tanned skin and sandy brown hair pulled back in a short queue. His clothes - a simple shirt and trousers – were not of fine quality, nor particularly shabby, and gave no clue to his profession. He had no visible weapon, which seemed a good thing, and after having a good look at him, Rhianna was certain she'd never spoken with him before.

"You are Rhianna Cousland, yes?"

"I am." So much for getting in and out of town unrecognized.

"Good. I'm glad I found you." He leaned close. "There's something you should know. Howe's men are here, in West Hill. They intend to wait outside the city for you, and ambush you when you leave. The guard won't tolerate them attacking inside the fortress, but as soon as you are back on the road, they'll come after you."

"On the road to the south?"

"In both directions. They don't want to take any chances of you getting away. Apparently, the arl was not at all pleased that you escaped in the first place."

This was hardly a surprise. Of course, it was possible this might be part of some plan to get her to drop her guard, or give away some detail that might lead her into a trap.

"I don't believe you and I have met before. So, who are you, to be so concerned for my welfare?"

"My uncle asked me to come and find you. He's the baker in Highever."

"Garrick sent you?"

"Yes." The man lifted a brow. "I didn't expect you to know who he was, a noble lady like you. He said you would, but I didn't believe him."

"Of course I know Garrick. I've known him all my life." Her stomach churned. "Did something happen in Highever, outside of the castle? Did Howe's men attack the town, as well?"

"No, I wouldn't say they attacked the town. Not exactly. But when they discovered that you'd escaped, they searched Highever, everywhere they thought you might be hiding. And anyone known to be friendly with you was searched rather vigorously." He chuckled once, a sound devoid of mirth. "Which, of course, was half the town."

"What about your uncle, and Maude? They're all right, I hope."

"My aunt is fine, and my uncle . . . well, he was injured, but nothing too serious. He'll recover. His shop was burned down, though, and he's gone into hiding, for now anyway. A lot of the people in the city have done the same. Howe's soldiers were . . . enthusiastic in their dealings with some of the townspeople. Especially those who tried to stand up, those who spoke out against what had been done to your family, once word got out about the . . . well, you know."

Maker's balls. People she knew had suffered on her behalf. Tears threatened, but she forced them back, as she had done countless times over the past few days.

"You don't live in Highever. I would have known you."

"No, I live in Kirkwall. I just happened to be in Highever for a visit with my uncle. After everything that happened, he begged me to come here, and keep an eye out for you in case you made your way through. The blacksmith even loaned me a horse, so I had a chance of getting here ahead of you. You are beloved, my lady, by the people of Highever."

"Maker bless them," Rhianna whispered, more to herself than to the young man seated beside her. "And you as well, ser. What's your name?"

"I'm Gerard."

"Thank you, Gerard."

"Well, I'd best go. Probably they're watching, and I should try and get myself somewhere safe."

"I'd offer for you to stay with us, but chances are you'll be better off on your own."

"Yes, my lady. I expect you're right about that." He stood. "Be careful in leaving the city. My uncle has always spoken highly of you. So, just . . . take care." He bowed his head briefly, and strode out of the tavern without looking back.

"That was interesting." Duncan leaned forward, so they could speak softly and not risk being overheard.

"Yes, it was. I suppose it's good to know our paranoia wasn't unfounded. Although I don't like the thought that we'll need to watch our backs constantly while traveling on the road."

"Once we're through the mountains, they probably won't expect us to stop at Kinloch Hold, and they might be thrown off our trail."

Rhianna nodded. "And once we get to Ostagar, and tell the king what happened, Howe won't have any reason to try and hunt us down. Well, you should be safe, at least." She bit her lower lip. "When I look back at the way Rendon Howe was with me over the years, the things he said, I've come to the conclusion that he hates me, and probably always has. I suspect he'll want me dead even if it doesn't help get him out of trouble. Of course, I don't think there's anything that will get him out of this trouble, once Cailan knows what happened."

"You have a great deal of faith in the king."

"I suppose I do." That was a strange thought, given what had happened during the past year. For all his faults, and for all she had lost faith in him for things he had done, in this regard she believed him entirely trustworthy. "He is a good man in many ways. He'll be outraged by this, and do whatever needs to be done to bring Howe to justice. Cailan won't allow something like this to just happen without any consequence."

"Yes, the king strikes me as that sort of person. I'm grateful for the way he responded to the darkspawn threat, particularly when there are a fair few others who refuse to believe the darkspawn pose _any_ significant threat." He took a sip of his ale. "Is there any way out of this fortress other than through the main gates?"

"I'm not aware of one, but I don't know the city very well. I imagine there are tunnels underneath that lead Maker's knows where, but I don't know anything about them." She leaned close. "Perhaps we should sneak out in the middle of the night. When they won't be expecting us to leave?"

"Yes, I was thinking along those lines as well." One corner of his mouth turned up. "But what about your bath?" Had he meant that as a joke? That was unusual. He wasn't really a humorous sort of person.

"Who says I can't have a bath before we leave? After all, it's far too early for us to think about sneaking out just yet, and I have no intention of wasting this opportunity."

He grinned at her, and she felt her face break into a smile. It was one of the first she'd had since . . . well, one of the first she'd had in days, and it almost hurt, at the corners of her mouth.

While finishing their meal, they agreed to try and find a way out that didn't involve either the front or the rear gates. They would look for some sort of less used entrance, and if they didn't find anything, they would go over the walls. After all, the fortress had been built to keep people out, not in. Scaling down the wall shouldn't pose much of a problem. Not for Rhianna, at any rate, and Duncan hadn't balked at the idea, so she assumed he'd be able to manage as well. Dane would need to find his own way out, if it came to that, but most likely a lone mabari wouldn't attract much attention.

Rhianna sketched a map of what she remembered of the city from where they'd gone today, as well as her memory of previous visits, and they outlined a route that seemed likely to lead them somewhere that would be useful.

Once they finished their meal. Rhianna did have her bath, behind a screen in the room that she and Duncan would have shared if they had actually spent the whole night. While she soaked in the tub, he napped on the bed, while Dane stretched out nearby on the floor. Rhianna allowed herself to relax, as much as she was able.

Damn Rendon Howe. He'd gone after people in Highever - people she knew, people who were her friends. It was good to know that Garrick was safe, although it sounded as though he'd lost just about everything. Was the same true for everyone else she'd known who lived in the city?

Fury washed over her. Why? Why would Howe do any of this?

He and her father were supposed to have been friends. They'd known one another for more than thirty years, they'd fought together, they'd visited one another's homes countless times, they'd raised their children side by side. What could have caused him to turn on an entire family like this? An entire city? Rhianna's mother said Howe was jealous, but to kill everyone in the castle, and attack innocent townspeople? That was an extreme reaction to feeling jealous. After the Rebellion, the man had kept his family's arling, for crying out loud. What more did he want?

And now, her family was dead, and the people of Highever were in danger, and she had no idea how she was ever going to fix things. Especially since she now belonged to the Grey Wardens.

But she _would_ fix things. Someday, Howe would pay for what he'd done. When Rhianna came face to face with him again – which would happen, Grey Warden or no - she would challenge him and they would duel, and she would win.

What would she say to him when that happened? Would she curse him? Probably. Would she ask him why? No, not that. She didn't want to hear some deluded explanation for something that was truly inexplicable. And how would she kill him? Would she do it slowly, so she could watch him writhe in pain, listen to his screams? Make him beg her to stop and then laugh in his face?

No.

As appealing as those things sounded now, when she was still consumed by anger and grief, when the time came, she would kill him quickly. There would be no laughter, no glee over his suffering. She would merely drive her blade into his belly, and watch quietly as he bled to death at her feet.

Of course, first things first: she and Duncan needed to find a way out of this dreary fortress without being murdered.

She slid down into the water and submerged herself completely, and washed what was left of her hair. It did feel good to be thoroughly warm, and clean, to have all the blood washed from her skin. She rubbed at the scar where the arrow had pierced her belly. It no longer hurt, but the edges were rough and lumpy, and it was reddish and darker than the skin that surrounded it. Every time she looked at it, for the rest of her life, she would be reminded of what happened that night.

Of course, it's not as though she would ever forget that night, scar or no.

When the water was no longer warm, she climbed out of the tub, dried herself, and reluctantly dressed in her leathers once again. The nightgown she'd bought for herself would have to wait. The bed did look comfortable; it was a pity she would not be able to take advantage of it tonight, but she suspected Duncan would not want the delay. So, she pulled on her boots, and gently shook Duncan awake. It was late enough now that they should be able to leave the tavern undetected, and try and find a way out of the city.

Getting out of the inn was a simple task. Duncan proved adept at staying in the shadows as they followed the route Rhianna had outlined in her crudely drawn map. They snuck into one of the abandoned towers - one that appeared to have been a guard tower at some point in the past - and made their way down. Duncan carried a torch to light their way as Rhianna made notations on her map and tried to keep her bearings.

As they descended, Rhianna had to push away her discomfort, as the walls began to feel too close, and the darkness too thick. There was something about the stonework that reminded her of the tower in Denerim, all those years ago, and her heart beat faster. She was grateful for Duncan's presence, and Dane's, but the single torch made her nervous. What if a draught of wind blew it out? Or if Duncan stumbled, and dropped it?

She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. To push back the panic that bloomed in her stomach, and threatened to move up into her chest. Dane was close at her side, and pressed his nose into the palm of her hand. She smiled down at him, grateful for the gesture.

After following a few passages that led to dead ends, or to stairs that spiraled much farther down than they needed to go, they found a locked door that Rhianna hoped would lead outside, based on her hastily sketched map. She put her ear to the door, and heard nothing on the other side - neither voices, nor anything that indicated there was open air beyond. The lock was ancient, but free of rust and grime, as though it had been used regularly, and perhaps fairly recently.

"Shall we see where it goes?" she asked.

"Might as well," Duncan agreed.

She tried the handle, but the door was locked. Duncan began to search one of the pockets of his pack, but before he'd found whatever it was he was searching for, Rhianna had picked the lock.

Duncan arched a brow. "How did the daughter of a teyrn learn a skill like that?"

"I was locked away once, when I was small. In an abandoned guard tower not unlike this one." She glanced up at the ceiling, as discomfort bubbled up inside her again. "It was cold, and completely dark, and apparently I very nearly died. Afterwards, I taught myself to pick locks, so I wouldn't have to worry about being trapped like that ever again."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

He frowned. "And how did you get out?"

"Loghain found me, and carried me home."

Most of her memories of that night were vague: impressions of utter darkness and dripping water and a kitten's soft fur. Some things, though, were sharp and clear in her mind. Loghain's voice from the other side of the door, his hand taking the key from her. How she'd been blinded by the torchlight, but then she blinked, and his face came into view, and then she was in his arms, and he was warm and strong and she knew she was safe. Never in the whole of her life had she felt as safe as in that moment.

A wave of grief washed over her. If only he were here. She would have done anything to feel his arms around her again.

She squeezed her eyes shut, to push back the memory of the girl she had been. A girl who had believed she would always be safe, and loved.

How wrong she had been.

She blinked and pushed open the door. A cool breeze hit her cheek and she found herself looking out over the Waking Sea. They were still some distance above the ground, but there was a narrow walkway that ran along the wall, and what looked like stairs that led down at the far end.

A sound of pleasure left her throat, from the success of finding a way out, yes, but mostly from being able to step away from the oppressive darkness of the tower.

"Well done," Duncan murmured.

Within a few minutes they had reached the bottom, and began to pick their way along the rocky cliff face upon which the fortress had been built. The moon was up, but it was waning and less than a quarter visible, and provided just enough light for them to see their footing, without being too terribly bright. It would have been easier to navigate in daylight, but Rhianna was grateful for the cover the darkness provided.

Not far from the end the stairs they had descended, Rhianna noticed a small trail that led farther down the cliff, to a strip of beach. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of trying to leave by sea, but there were no boats in sight, not even moored offshore.

They made their way around the fortress, and back onto the main road.

"Is there any other way through these mountains?" Duncan asked.

"No. Not really. Not until we get down into the foothills. And we have at least one group of Howe's men waiting for us already, between here and there, assuming Garrick's nephew was telling the truth."

"I've no doubt it was the truth," Duncan replied. "Hopefully they're camped, and not particularly alert."

"Do you suggest we try and sneak by them?"

"Actually, depending on how many there are, we might be better with a surprise attack. I would rather not have them on our heels the rest of the way to Ostagar. If we can take them out while they're sleeping, that would make our lives much easier."

It would indeed. Of course, there was also the risk of being injured, or killed.

"That's fine with me," Rhianna replied.

They traveled through the night, not speaking at all, so they could listen for any sign of Howe's assassins, and not make any sound that might alert those assassins to their approach.

Not long before dawn, they reached a point in the road that seemed an obvious place to stage an ambush. The road narrowed as it went through a particularly steep section of the mountain, leaving a ravine with nearly vertical sides, and nowhere to escape.

The three companions moved as silently as possible, trusting the darkness to hide them from the eyes of any night watch. With the moon barely a sliver, it was extremely dark, especially once they entered the ravine.

When they were nearly through the narrow pass, Duncan put a hand on her arm and pointed at the top of the rock ledge above them. At first, she saw nothing, but then there it was: a glint of light. Moonlight on metal armor. One of Howe's men.

Rhianna considered trying to shoot him from here, but it was so dark she couldn't be certain of her aim. Best to wait and see if they found a better vantage point. Besides, before they made any attack, they needed to be certain they weren't ridiculously outnumbered.

When they came out of the pass, the road turned to the left, and as they followed the curve around, they found the rest of Howe's soldiers camped directly in the middle of the road, with the remnants of a fire smoldering in a makeshift pit.

Those smug bastards weren't even trying to hide themselves.

There appeared to be six prone figures, plus the guard they had seen. There was probably at least one more person awake and keeping watch on the opposite side of the ravine, which made eight. Not wonderful odds, but assuming they could get the jump on them before they realized what was happening, Rhianna was willing to give it a try.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? She could get killed. Considering the life that loomed ahead of her right now, the thought didn't trouble her overmuch.

Wordlessly, she and Duncan gestured a plan of attack to one another. Rhianna would use her bow to take out the guard they had spotted; from this angle, she could see him more clearly, and with any luck she could drop him without making much noise at all. Then she would look for the other guard standing watch, while Duncan and Dane took out as many of the sleeping soldiers as possible before the men realized they were under attack.

Keeping to the shadows, Duncan moved around the edge of the camp with Dane close behind, and when they were in position, Rhianna let loose an arrow. It hit on target, directly through the guard's neck, but he managed to make a horrible, gurgling cry as he fell to the ground.

A confused shout echoed against the cliff walls, and then the muffled sounds of Duncan and Dane's attack. Rhianna sprinted across the road, and spotted the other guard easily; he'd come to the edge when the first guard cried out. Rhianna shot at him, but the arrow glanced off his armor. When he took aim at her, she waited half a breath and rolled out of the way as he fired. She managed to avoid the arrow as it thunked into the ground nearby, then she leapt up and fired again. This time, her arrow hit him in the shoulder and knocked him back out of view. It was almost certainly not a fatal shot, but if it kept him occupied for even a few minutes, that would help.

Because the rest of the soldiers were awake.

She dropped her bow, and drew her sword and dagger. Duncan and Dane had killed two of the soldiers, and wounded a third. Rhianna managed to sneak up and slit the throat one of the guards, as he attacked Dane. That, however, drew the attention of the others.

"It's the Cousland whore!" one of them shouted, and three guards turned and rushed at her.

Her speed served her well, and she managed to avoid their attacks. One of them went down with a well-placed strike from her longsword, and Dane hamstrung another, a woman who fell to the ground and clutched at her leg. As Rhianna leapt out of the way of a two-handed axe, she saw Duncan get knocked sideways and fall to his knees, but she didn't have time to look more closely before she had to parry another attack.

A burning stab of pain exploded in her left arm, and she cried out. She'd been hit by an arrow; the guard atop the ravine was back in action. She had a more immediate problem, though, as the man wielding the axe came at her yet again. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she dodged his attack and then closed the distance between them. When she slid her dagger under the edge of his leather armor and into his belly, he screamed and collapsed as the axe fell harmlessly to the ground with a metallic clatter. Dane knocked another guard backward into the dirt and tore out the man's throat before pouncing on the woman who still struggled to climb to her feet, in spite of her ruined leg. She was dead within moments.

Only one guard was left standing. He charged at Duncan, who was still on his knees. With a grunt of exertion, Duncan drove the pommel of his sword into the dirt in front of him and angled the blade forward. The guard's eyes grew wide as he saw his mistake, but he couldn't stop himself from being impaled on Duncan's sword.

Something whistled by Rhianna's ear: another arrow from the guard atop the ravine. She ran to retrieve her bow, and nocked an arrow with incredible speed; this bow was amazingly better than any she had fired before.

She took aim and loosed the arrow, but it glanced off his armor.

"Maker's balls!" She fired again; this time, it flew straight and true into the archer's neck. He stumbled forward and fell from the cliff to land on the road with a wet thud.

Rhianna surveyed the scene around her. Dane was at her side, and appeared uninjured. Duncan, with an arrow protruding from his shoulder, was on his feet and walking toward her. Everyone else lay dead or dying on the ground.

She let out a breath.

Good.

They deserved no better.

But . . . was that really true?

None of these men had made the decision to attack and kill; Rendon Howe had done that. They were just following orders. And who knows what they had been told? "The Cousland whore." No doubt, that had come straight from Howe, as well. Perhaps these soldiers had been led to believe Rhianna deserved to die.

If that was true, they probably didn't deserve the deaths she had given them. Even so, she wasn't about to sit still and allow them to kill her.

The small wave of guilt that washed over her ebbed away again quickly.

"You're injured." Duncan's tone was matter-of-fact. Without hesitation, he grasped her elbow, and, before she realized what he intended to do, he pulled the arrow out of her arm. She cried out and panted through the pain. The wound seeped blood, but with a poultice, it would heal nicely.

"Thank you," she said, once she'd caught her breath. "Shall I do the same for you?"

"Please." He knelt on one knee so she could reach the arrow. It had gone in at an angle just beneath the edge of his cuirass, and was embedded quite deep. He'd been fortunate in where it hit; an inch or two higher and he would likely be dead.

She grasped the arrow, pulled it out, and pressed her hand over the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Duncan had poultices, thankfully, and within a very few minutes, they had bandaged one another's wounds, and searched the bodies for anything of value.

Apparently, these soldiers had been paid, and well; Rhianna filled an entire pouch with the coins she salvaged. Good thing, too; no doubt the coin would prove useful.

Together, Rhianna and Duncan dragged the bodies to the side of the road, but made no attempt to hide them, or obscure the signs of battle.

"These men will be found, sooner or later, no matter how well we hide them," Duncan said. "Perhaps leaving them like this will send Howe a message that we do not intend to make easy targets of ourselves."

Rhianna nodded. The sky had begun to lighten in the east, and Rhianna was exhausted. It seemed foolish, though, to even consider stopping to rest.

"With any luck, we'll have the better part of the day before more of Howe's men come this way, and realize we've gotten past their ambush. If we just keep going, we might be able to make it far enough by the afternoon to take an alternate route through the mountains."

"That's fine with me," Duncan agreed, and the three companions headed up the road, away from West Hill.

There was something soothing about the steady, rhythmic pace of walking after the frenetic activity of battle. Soon the sun peeked up over the nearby mountains and washed the sky in beautiful shades of pink and orange and yellow. Never before had Rhianna seen such a beautiful sunrise.

Whatever storms plagued the Bannorn, they had not managed to cross the mountains, and as the sky brightened to a clear, cloudless blue, Rhianna found herself smiling. It was good to be outdoors, as the warmth of the sun and the cool autumn breeze combined to warm her hair and her shoulders without causing her to swelter. There was also something satisfying about having escaped the fortress and thwarted Howe's miserable ambush.

Somehow, this combination of things buoyed her mood, and for a few hours at least, she felt something that could almost be called content.

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_Many thanks to my lovely beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: Skidney, KatDancer2, KrystylSky, Guardian1165, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Psyche Sinclair, Kateskates24, and a Guest._

_Next stop: Kinloch Hold._

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	7. Another way out

_This chapter contains a Trigger Warning; please scroll to the bottom for details. _

_**16 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Kinloch Hold**__**  
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With a sigh of pleasure, Rhianna slid further into the tub. The water had been heated by magic in an instant and scented with fragrant oils, and it felt wonderful.

It was the second such bath she'd taken in the past twelve hours. Not long after she and Duncan had arrived at Kinloch Hold the previous evening, she'd washed away the grime and sweat of four days of travel. This morning, however, she bathed purely for the pleasure to be had by soaking in the deliciously hot water.

They'd managed to avoid encounters with more of Howe's men during the time it took them to travel here, and when they arrived at the small settlement on the shores of Lake Calenhad, Rhianna, Duncan and Dane soon found themselves on a boat. The wind was chill as they slid smoothly through the dark waters of the lake, rowed across by a man called Kester who was friendly and talkative, and spent most of the journey telling them about the history of the area. Rhianna had stared at the spire of Kinloch Hold, which stretched almost impossibly high into the darkening sky. Perhaps she would be allowed to climb the tower; the view from the top would be spectacular.

When they arrived in a large cavern at the base of the tower, an unsmiling templar approached them as they stepped off the boat.

"State your business."

"I am Duncan, Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. I'm here to speak with First Enchanter Irving."

"Wait here." The templar turned and went up a flight of stone steps. Kester didn't get out of the boat, nor did he begin the journey back to shore; perhaps it was his habit to wait until he was certain visitors would not be denied entrance into the tower.

A few minutes later, an elf in mage's robes came down the stairs to greet them. She was slight of build, with warm olive skin, delicate features, and long, dark hair that hung halfway down her back.

"Welcome to Kinloch Hold." A warm smile lit up her brown eyes. "My name is Neria, and I understand you have come to see the First Enchanter. Unfortunately, he is unavailable at the moment. One of the apprentices is going through her Harrowing tonight. You are, however, more than welcome to spend the night, and Irving will be able to meet with you tomorrow, if this is acceptable?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. "We would appreciate that."

Neria nodded at Kester, and he untied the rope that tethered him to the dock, and prepared to return to shore.

"So," Neria gestured toward the stairs, "if you'll please follow me, I'll show you to your quarters for the night." They climbed the dimly lit steps, and into the entry hall of the tower. Neria smiled and nodded at the templars they passed, all of whom returned the greeting with at least a nod, but Rhianna saw no one else yet who looked like a wielder of magic.

"You said someone is going through something called a Harrowing," Rhianna began. "What is that?"

"It's the test that everyone born with magical ability must go through before becoming a full member of the Circle."

"What sort of test?"

"I'm afraid I am not allowed to disclose the details," she explained, sounding genuinely regretful. "But it's a way of ensuring that a mage is strong enough to withstand the temptation of the demons that inhabit the Fade. Strong enough to avoid becoming an abomination."

At the end of the entry hall stood a huge set of double doors. Beyond them, in the tower proper, they walked along a curved hallway past rooms that appeared to be dormitories. Here, there were mages huddled together, whispering, and glancing nervously around. All of them looked quite young and completely harmless, unlike the heavily armed and armored templars who guarded them.

It was quiet in the tower, as though everyone was in the habit of speaking in hushed tones, and the air was cool. Chilly even. While this was to be expected from an ancient stone building, there was something more to it than that, something about the quality of the light that lacked warmth. The halls were lit by torches, just like in Highever Castle, but somehow the light didn't penetrate all the way into the corners. The shadows seemed darker than usual, as though the light was too timid to travel far from its source. It was uncomfortable and somewhat nerve wracking, as though the building was holding its breath waiting for some tragedy to strike.

Waiting for tragedy to strike? That was ridiculous, wasn't it? This was nothing more than Rhianna's imagination running away with her. Probably because she'd never had much experience with mages. The only ones she'd ever known were Geoffrey and Jocelyn, and they'd always been friendly, but of course all the stories one heard were about abominations and demons and whole villages murdered. It was difficult not to be frightened of an entire tower filled with people who held that sort of power.

Or perhaps it was the templars who were frightening, and not the mages at all. Certainly, Rhianna was accustomed to armed guards standing watch, but the guards in Highever, even at the palace in Denerim, had smiled and offered friendly greetings. Here, the templars stood perfectly erect and silent, with deep scowls on their faces, except for those who wore helmets, and were even more intimidating as a result.

In any case, she didn't like it here. The atmosphere made her uncomfortable and a bit itchy to have her dagger in her hand. Dane seemed not to like it, either; he stuck close to her side, and his ears were forward, and twitched slightly, as though trying to pick up any sound that might indicate danger.

To think that mages spent their entire lives here made her shudder. Even after five minutes, Rhianna knew she would hate being forced to live here, especially with the eyes of the templars following her wherever she went.

Neria led them all the way around the tower, through the most amazing library Rhianna had ever seen. It was one enormous room, separated into three wings, with shelves that extended at least thirty feet high, all packed solidly with books. There were more people here, as well: mages sitting and reading, or browsing the shelves; apprentices paying rapt attention as an enchanter filled a slate board with arcane scrawls; templars, of course, but they seemed somewhat more relaxed than the ones in the hallways. And more books than Rhianna could have imagined existed in all of Thedas. Here, for the first time, she felt some sense of calm.

They passed through without stopping, and Neria led them up the stairs that led to the second floor of the tower. The mages on the second floor looked older, and less unsure of themselves, but the atmosphere was still hushed and vaguely tense. Neria hadn't gone far down the hallway before she stopped and indicated a pair of rooms, side by side.

"Here are your rooms," she said. "I hope you'll find them comfortable. You are welcome to go anywhere you like on this floor, or the one below. All I ask is that you refrain from opening any locked doors. Further down the hallway there is a chapel you are welcome to use, and of course you saw the library downstairs. I'll make sure food is brought up to you shortly. Is there anything else you need at the moment?"

"Not that I can think of," Duncan replied. "Everything appears to be quite comfortable. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. If you do think of anything, or have questions, please inform one of the templars and they will find me. Enjoy your evening."

When Neria had walked away, Rhianna discovered that the room she'd been offered was lovely. It had a huge bed, a sitting area with sofas, a desk and vanity, and shelves filled with books. Best of all, a huge metal bathtub was tucked away behind a partial wall.

After examining their quarters, Rhianna and Duncan decided to return to the library. An hour later, dinner had been served to them in Duncan's bedchamber, and when the dishes had been cleared away, a young apprentice came to heat water for Rhianna's bath. Warm and clean and calmed by the herbs and scented oils in the bath, as well as a glass of exceedingly good port, Rhianna slept better than she had in ages.

This morning, she had asked again for water for a bath, and her hosts had been happy to provide it. Now, she soaked in the hot water while Dane slept in the corner where she could see him, and he could see the door to her room.

Both the water and the scent were soothing, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax fully for the first time in days. As uncomfortable as she found the atmosphere of the Circle Tower, at least she wasn't worried that Howe's soldiers were going to burst through the door and try to murder her. And, once she got used to the quiet, she rather liked it. It had been quite peaceful to sit in the library and read undisturbed. The library at Highever had never been truly quiet, between her tutor and apprentices and fosterlings running about. Not that she'd minded at the time, of course; she loved the library in Highever. Her favorite book had been "The Dragons of Tevinter" by Brother Timious, which had all sorts of wild theories about dragons and darkspawn and how they were connected. Although, after what Duncan told her about dreaming of the archdemon, some of those theories didn't seem quite so wild.

Had it been the archdemon she'd dreamt of? That seemed impossible - she wasn't a Grey Warden yet, and hadn't gone through this Joining of theirs, so how could she have dreamt of him? But what if it had been the archdemon?

If only she could remember what he had said. She had an impression that most of it was intelligible, but that at the very end, he asked for help. It frightened her, a bit, the thought of having a creature so purely evil in her head. And also, perhaps, that a creature so huge and powerful might ask a young girl for help.

Would she dream of him again after this ritual?

There was a metallic "click" from the direction of the hallway, and a jarringly loud bang of wood against stone.

Maker's balls. From where she soaked in the tub, behind the partial wall, she couldn't see the door, but it was easy enough to guess that someone had opened the door to Rhianna's bed chamber.

Could Howe's men have found her, here? Surely, that wasn't possible. Even if they knew she was in the tower, how could they gain access? Unless they'd lied and said they were here with news about her family. She had no way of knowing how far word of the massacre had traveled yet.

Dane leapt to his feet and put himself between his mistress and the intruder, and crouched low with his teeth bared. A menacing growl rumbled deep in his throat, and from Dane's mind she could see it wasn't one of Howe's soldiers at all, but a man in templar armor. But what was he doing here?

Her heart racing, Rhianna climbed out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a towel.

"Um . . . good . . . doggy?" The man who had spoken sounded nervous, and with good reason. Dane was ready to tear out his throat if he came any further into the room.

Rhianna grabbed her dagger from the small table near the tub, and rounded the corner to stand just behind Dane. Near the door was a light-skinned man whose curly reddish-blonde hair was cropped short. His eyes were fixed on the mabari, and he'd drawn his sword, and held it as though he feared he would have to defend himself.

"Please, call off your dog," he said, without taking his eyes off Dane.

Dane growled more loudly.

"No," she replied. "I will not call off my dog. Not until you tell me who you are, and what in the Void you're doing in my bedroom."

The man glanced at Rhianna. At the sight of her, and her attire, his eyes grew wide, and he looked away quickly.

"B-begging your pardon, my lady. But p-please, call off the dog."

"No. Not until you answer my questions."

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . I was ordered to search every r-room on this f-floor."

"Why?" Oh, Maker. What if Howe's men had found her, and had broken into the tower somehow?

"A mage has gone missing."

She let out the breath that had been caught in her chest. This had nothing to do with Howe.

"Is there some reason you suspect this mage would be in here, with me?"

"I d-didn't realize anyone was staying in here, m-my lady."

"The locked door didn't give you a clue? Have you never heard of knocking? That's where you tap on the door, to see if there's someone inside, and then wait for them to give you permission to enter. Are all templars in the habit of barging in on young women in their baths?"

The initial rush of fear had worn off, leaving her keenly annoyed, but it was obvious the man had no intention to harm her, so she silently asked Dane to stand down. He came to sit beside her, but kept his gaze focused on the templar.

As for the templar, his eyes flitted around the room, not as though he were searching for some missing mage, but in what appeared to be an effort to look anywhere _but_ at Rhianna, as she stood in a towel and dripped water onto the floor.

"I . . . didn't think to knock. I just used the master key. It's very important this man be found as soon as possible."

"I give you my word that no one is hiding in here. There's no one in this room but me and my hound, and I would very much appreciate if you would leave, long enough at least for me to put on some clothes."

"I'm sorry, my lady. But this room must be searched. I have my orders."

"Do you really think I'm hiding a mage in here? What, in the wardrobe, perhaps? Or maybe he was in the tub with me? Who is this mage anyway?"

"He's called Anders, and last night he took advantage of the fact a Harrowing was taking place to attempt an escape."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Of course he's dangerous." The man's brow wrinkled, as if she'd asked something very stupid. "He's a mage."

"But did he _do_ something? More than just escape, I mean? And do you not think he might have tried a better hiding place than my bed chamber?"

"Please, my lady. If I could just search the room. Then I'll . . . I'll leave you to your . . . b-bath."

"Oh, all right. Look in the wardrobe or under the bed or wherever else you think this man might be hiding."

The templar crossed the room and pulled open the large wardrobe; it was, unsurprisingly, empty. As was the space under the bed, and behind the wall hangings, and, of course, the bathtub.

While he searched, Rhianna added, "I hope he gets away. If I were a mage, I expect I'd try to escape, as well, if this is the way you treat the people under your care. Barging in unannounced and not respecting their privacy at all."

For the first time, the man turned to face her directly. "Don't speak so, my lady. You don't know what this man - what all his kind - are capable of. They can perform blood magic, which drains life away, and allows a mage to control the minds of others. They can be possessed by demons, and become abominations capable of destruction you could scarcely imagine. There is a reason they are here, under our watchful eyes. Mages are dangerous. That is something you must never forget."

He strode toward the door. "I have finished my search. I apologize, my lady, for disturbing you."

"Wait," Rhianna called out. "What is your name?"

"Cullen, my lady." He inclined his head to her, briefly, and left the room, closing the door behind him. Rhianna hurried to lock the door again, and immediately felt foolish. After all, the lock hadn't done much good.

That had been unnerving. Both the intrusion - so much for feeling safe, even behind a locked door - and also at the thought that this might be the life all mages led. Were they really subjected to templars coming in on them at any moment? From what Cullen had said, it seemed that yes, they were, at least in an "emergency." Assuming the escape of a single mage could be called such.

What was to stop them from using the keys at other times as well? She'd heard dark rumors about templars abusing the mages - especially young women - under their "care." Rhianna had always assumed them to be nothing more than rumors.

But now, she had to wonder.

The bathwater had cooled too much for her to consider getting back in the tub, so she got dressed instead, and ventured out of her room in search of Duncan. For possibly the first time ever, she looked forward to seeing his familiar face, hearing the rich timbre of his voice.

He was in his room next door to her own, reading through some of the books he'd found in the library.

"Did a templar come and search your room?" she asked, after he invited her in and they sat together on one of the sofas.

"Yes. Apparently one of the mages escaped last night."

"I gathered as much. Even so, I would have preferred at least a word of warning before the man let himself into my bedroom while I was in the bath."

Duncan raised a brow. "I suppose he's doing what he considers his duty."

"Perhaps . . . but are mages really as dangerous as the templars believe them to be?"

Duncan let out a breath. "Magical power is . . . intense. And, like any form of power, must be wielded with care that it does not get out of control, or lead to abuse."

"Yes, I've heard that all my life about mages, but it seems to me that here in the tower, the ones abusing their power are the templars."

"It may appear that way, and no doubt there is some truth to it. But I have seen a mage overcome by a demon, and seen what they can become. It's not always the fault of the mage. Something about their magical power acts like a beacon to creatures of the Fade who can use them as a gateway into our world. And not all attacks come in the form you might suspect. Demons can be seductive. It is no trivial thing, watching to make certain the mages are not corrupted."

"It's still difficult for me to see why they're are treated with such . . . contempt. This templar had no qualms about bursting into a locked room; he barely even apologized. It was clear he thought he'd done nothing wrong. Do the mages live every day with such a lack of privacy?"

"I'm not saying it is an ideal situation. Just that it is necessary, as much for the safety of the mages as for everyone else."

A knock sounded at the door. It was the elven mage, Neria. "Sers, the First Enchanter asked me to tell you that he is available to speak with you now. If you will just follow me, I will show you to his chambers."

She led them to a room on the same floor as their guest quarters, a large room with tall bookshelves lining two walls, and tables covered in books and scrolls and strange apparatus. Magical equipment? Did mages need more than just their staves? Apparently so.

An elderly man was seated at a desk in the center of the room. He stood and smiled warmly, and the lines in his face furrowed even more deeply. He had a bushy grey beard, wore robes in varying shades of green and brown, and had a staff strapped to his back.

"Welcome!" He came forward to greet them. "It is good to see you again, Duncan."

"Thank you, Irving," Duncan replied. "It's a pleasure to see you again, as well."

"Do you need me for anything else, Irving?"

"Not just now, Neria. Thank you." As the enchanter left the room, Irving's eyes watch her fondly. "Neria Surana. She completed her harrowing only a few months ago, and is already one of the most talented spirit healers in our Circle."

"Spirit healer?" Rhianna asked.

"She can use her magic to mend injuries of flesh and bone, and even heal disease. It's not a common talent," Irving explained. "Under other circumstances, I might have sent her to Denerim; she'd be a excellent court mage for the king and queen. But I'm keeping her close, instead. I expect that one day she will succeed me as First Enchanter of this Circle. Hopefully not for a good many years, of course," he chuckled. "And who are you, my dear? A Grey Warden recruit I assume?"

"Yes, Ser," Rhianna replied.

"This is Rhianna, and she is a new recruit," Duncan confirmed. "We've just come from Highever. Rhianna, this is Irving, the First Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle of Magi."

"Rhianna?" The First Enchanter arched a brow. "That is the name of the Teyrn of Highever's daughter, is it not?"

"Yes, I am Bryce Cousland's daughter, although my brother is the teyrn now. Or will be as soon as he learns of the death of my parents."

Irving's brow creased. "We had word here of some sort of attack on the castle, but no real details. What exactly happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"My family was betrayed by one of my father's oldest friends, Arl Rendon Howe. He ordered his soldiers to attack us in our beds, in the middle of the night, just after my brother marched with the Highever troops toward Ostagar."

Maker, but saying it like that was odd. Two sentences seemed hardly enough to sum up what had happened that night. The pain, the blood, the treachery and death. And yet, Rhianna couldn't think of anything more to add.

"I am very sorry to hear about this, my dear." Irving sounded sincere. "You have my deepest sympathies." He glanced at Duncan. "And you've recruited her into the Wardens? A noblewoman?"

"Yes. Rhianna is exceedingly skilled at arms, and as you know, a Blight has started in Ferelden. We need all the good people we can get."

"Which, of course," Irving replied, "is what has brought you here today, is it not?"

"It is."

"We have already sent mages to the king at Ostagar, Duncan. Not that I am averse to sending more. But you may find resistance from another quarter."

"I assume you're referring to me, Irving." A man in templar armor strode into the room. He appeared to be of a similar age as Irving, but had aged far more gracefully. His skin was less wrinkled, and his hair – short in the front, but brushing his collar in back - had not yet completely grayed. He wore his beard closely trimmed, and he was quite handsome. Except for the way he'd just walked in and interrupted the conversation. Typical templar behavior, it seemed.

"Oh good. There you are, Greagoir," Irving said cheerfully. "I'm glad you were able to join us." So, apparently this templar had been invited. That made it somewhat less obnoxious. "Rhianna, this is Knight-Commander Greagoir. He's in charge of the templars here at our Circle."

With barely a nod at Rhianna, the templar addressed Duncan. "If you've come asking for more mages to be sent south, I'm afraid you're going to leave here disappointed."

"That is a bit hasty, is it not?" Irving said lightly. "And let me introduce you to Duncan's companion. This is Rhianna Cousland. She's to be joining the Grey Wardens."

"Cousland?" Greagoir turned to look at Rhianna properly for the first time. He frowned. Rhianna guessed he had heard of the events in Highever. "Well met." He crossed his arms at his chest and bowed. Rhianna did the same.

A warrior's greeting, something she had generally only received on the practice field, or during tournaments. She should probably get used to this; no doubt, she would be viewed as a warrior from now on, and no longer a noble lady.

Greagoir turned back to Duncan. "Many have already gone to Ostagar. Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages. More than I am comfortable with having sent, frankly. And now you return asking for more? I'm afraid not. We've committed enough of our own to this war effort."

"Your own?" Irving's voice held just the slightest bit of mockery in its tone. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let them out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers? There are many here in the Circle who would readily agree to join the king at Ostagar. In spite of the dangers they would face there."

"The dangers _they_ would face? Oh yes, I'm sure," Greagoir countered. "Mages like Anders, who would view it as the perfect opportunity to escape the reach of the Templars permanently."

"Not all of us bristle against the life we have here in the Circle, Greagoir."

"And," Duncan interjected, "I am afraid you underestimate the danger Ferelden faces at the hands of the darkspawn. A horde at least ten thousand strong has formed within the Korcari Wilds. If they are not stopped, they will strike north into the valley. Mages are powerful weapons against the horde, and against the archdemon when it finally appears. The dozen mages you have sent will be useful, but the king would prefer twice as many, at least. I understand the dangers, but we need the full assistance of the Circle and the templars if we are to defeat the darkspawn decisively, and quickly."

"You are the one who underestimates the dangers," Greagoir replied tersely. "We must be constantly vigilant against any sign of corruption in the mages. Something we cannot do effectively outside the Circle. I haven't enough templars to send more to the south than have already been sent."

At least they weren't questioning Duncan's insistence that this was a blight. Perhaps with their experience of the Fade, they were more willing to take seriously something seen in a dream.

Irving spoke. "Greagoir, I think perhaps it's not corruption that you fear, but what might happen if the mages are allowed to unleash their full power against the darkspawn. What if they decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?"

"How dare you suggest-" Greagoir began, but he cut himself off when a young woman entered the room.

She was young, probably only a year or two older than Rhianna, and wore blue and purple apprentice robes. She was pretty, with brown eyes and skin the color of mahogany. Her black hair was long, and pulled into two queues which curled past her shoulders.

The woman came to stand beside Rhianna, and smiled tentatively at the group assembled.

"You sent for me, First Enchanter?"

"Ah, yes." Irving's voice sounded pleased. "The newest member of the Circle." He turned to Duncan and Rhianna. "This is Solona Amell, the mage who recently completed her Harrowing." To Solona, "Congratulations my dear. You did exceedingly well last night."

"Thank you, ser," She smiled, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks.

"Well, Irving, you're obviously busy." Greagoir's voice was harsh. "We will discuss this," he glanced at Duncan, "later."

"Of course," Irving replied, apparently unperturbed by Greagoir's mood. When the templar strode out of the room, Irving continued, "I apologize for the Knight-Commander's gruffness. Greagoir serves the Chantry, and the relationship between the Chantry and mages has always been strained. I'll go after him in a bit. Try and convince him that sending mages to the king is really for the best."

That seemed an uphill battle; would Duncan end up leaving Kinloch Hold empty handed? Of course, he could always conscript a few mages for the Wardens. Even Greagoir couldn't stop him from doing that.

"I have no doubt," Duncan replied, "that is a conversation best had in private."

"Indeed," Irving chuckled. "Well, then, where was I? Oh yes. Solona. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens. And one of his new recruits, Rhianna." The mage glanced at Rhianna, and returned the smile Rhianna gave her.

"Pleased to meet you," Solona said.

Irving moved to his desk and retrieved a number of items. "I have some things for you, now that you are a full member of the Circle of Magi. Your new robes, marking you as an enchanter, no longer an apprentice. And your staff, which will allow you to channel your power more effectively. And finally, this ring that bears the Circle's insignia." Irving handed Solona the items.

"Thank you, ser. I am honored, and pleased."

"Wear them proudly. You have earned them, my dear. And it goes without saying," he added, "that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite. Now then, take your time to rest, or study in the library. Whatever you would like to do. The day is yours." He turned to Duncan. "And now, I think I'll try and make Greagoir see reason. In the meantime, please continue to make yourselves at home here in the tower."

"I will be happy to spend more time in your library," Duncan said. "There's a particular reference I have not yet been able to locate."

"Just ask any of the senior mages for their help," Irving said. "I'm sure they will be more than happy to assist you." He turned to Rhianna. "And what about you, my dear? I hope you haven't been bored by your stay here so far. Is there anything you might like to do, that you haven't yet been able?"

"I haven't been bored at all," she assured him. "In fact," she added, remembering the incident with the templar, "it's been more exciting than I'd expected." She paused. "There is one thing I should like to do, if it's allowed."

"What's that, my dear?"

"Would it be possible for me to climb to the top? Of the tower, I mean. Up onto the roof, or to the highest floor with windows. I would love to see the view."

"I can't remember anyone making that particular request before, but I see no reason why it can't be done. I'll have someone come and find you, and escort you there as soon as can be arranged. In the meantime, Solona, would you please see Duncan and Rhianna back to their rooms?"

"Of course," she agreed.

"Thank you. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Greagoir."

The First Enchanter took his leave of them, and Rhianna and Duncan followed Solona back through the halls. Having an escort was quite unnecessary; it wasn't complicated getting around the tower, as all the rooms were off a single circular hallway. Still, Rhianna didn't mind. She was somewhat intrigued by this woman who had just become a full mage.

When they reached the rooms, Duncan thanked Solona for her help and then continued downstairs to the library. Instead of leaving, however, the mage hesitated.

"Do you think . . ." the mage began, "Well, I don't want to intrude, but if you have a few minutes to spare, I wonder if we could talk for a bit. If I could ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. Let's sit in my quarters." Leaving the door to the hallway open, Rhianna indicated that Solona should sit on one of the sofas in the little sitting area. "You have questions? What did you want to know?"

"Well, I couldn't help but hear the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander arguing before I came in. I was just wondering what that was about."

"Duncan and I came here so he could try to recruit more mages to join the king's army at Ostagar. Your First Enchanter seems quite willing for that to happen, but the Knight-Commander is against it."

"Oh, yes, I suppose he would be. He doesn't like mages to be away from the Circle unless absolutely necessary. Which hardly ever happens. It's never happened for me, at least. Occasionally one of the senior enchanters gets to go to another Circle when the College of Magi convenes, and there are those few court mages who live outside the Circle all of the time. But it's not very common."

"So, you aren't ever allowed to leave the Circle?

"We're permitted to walk the grounds sometimes," Solona replied. "The templars are fond of saying we're not missing much. That Ferelden is quite boring. Mostly farms and the occasional river."

Rhianna snorted. "Ferelden is anything but boring. It's absolutely beautiful." She paused. "Probably I shouldn't say that, should I? Considering you're not allowed to go out and see for yourself."

"Don't worry," she chuckled. "I know the templars aren't telling the truth. Or perhaps it's what they tell themselves, as well. To be honest, most of them have as little freedom as we do to move about the country. I would like to see something of the world, though. Where are you from, originally?"

"Not far from here. I'm from Highever."

"That's on the coast?"

"Yes."

"Why did you leave?" When Rhianna hesitated, Solona quickly added, "Or maybe you don't want to talk about it. Which is all right, too. I don't mean to be nosy."

"No, it's all right. The short version is that most of my family was killed. I'd probably be dead now, as well, if it weren't for Duncan. And in return, he . . . asked me to join the Grey Wardens. And I haven't really got anywhere else to go . . ." Rhianna shrugged.

"I'm sorry. About your family."

Rhianna nodded her acknowledgement of the other woman's sympathy. "What about your family? Do you ever get to see them?"

"No. I was a bit older than usual when I was taken away, so at least I remember them. Not all of my fellow mages can say that. My parents tried to hide the fact that I was . . . magical, but eventually it came out, and I was brought here. It caused my family a bit of trouble, as well. My uncle would have been Viscount of Kirkwall, if not for me, and the way my mage blood 'tainted' our family."

"What do you mean? Because you're a mage, they, what? They chose someone else to be Viscount?"

"Exactly."

"That's horrible." Perhaps that was the reason her parents had been so afraid when they thought she used magic to speak with animals. Would Father have lost the teyrnir if Rhianna really had proven to be a mage? "So you haven't seen them at all? Your mother, or your father?"

"No. The Circle doesn't encourage that sort of thing. And besides, I don't think they really wanted to see me. Not my parents, anyway. I do have a cousin who is married to an . . ." Solona looked around nervously, and then continued in a softer voice, "married to an apostate. You know, a mage who isn't part of a Circle? Sometimes I wish there would have been a way for me to go live with them. But they're not always easy to find. They have to move around a lot, to stay one step ahead of the templars."

"Where are they? I don't suppose they could come to visit, could they?"

"No," Solona laughed. "No one comes to visit, really, and certainly not apostates. Last I heard, they were living in Lothering, but that was a couple of years ago. They might not still be there."

"So what happens now? I mean, now that you're a mage, and no longer an apprentice? Will things be different for you in any way?"

"I don't think much will change, to be honest. Well, I won't sleep with the apprentices anymore. I've been given quarters here on the second floor. And I'm allowed to use magic whenever I want. I suppose I'll find some area of magic to research, and learn all that I can about it." She sighed. "I wouldn't mind going to Ostagar, to tell you the truth, and join the king's army. But it doesn't sound as though the Knight-Commander intends to allow any more mages out of the tower."

"If you're really interested," Rhianna offered, "I'll speak to Duncan on your behalf. Tell him you're willing. Maybe he can convince the Knight-Commander. Duncan can be very persuasive. I get the feeling he's mostly accustomed to getting what he wants, so he rarely takes no for an answer."

"Would you really? Speak to Duncan about me?" Solona's eyes were wide, her voice earnest. She truly did want to leave the tower.

"Of course. I'll do it next time I see him."

Before Solona had the chance to respond, a man wearing apprentice robes stuck his head through the door. "Solona!" he said in a loud, urgent whisper. His dark hair contrasted starkly with his fair skin, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"What is it Jowan?" Solona replied, a slight edge to her voice. "Can't you see I'm busy? We have a visitor here at the Circle."

"I beg your pardon, my lady." He gave Rhianna an apologetic smile. "But I really need to speak to you, Solona. It's important."

Solona let out a ragged breath, glanced at Rhianna, and then back at Jowan. "Oh, all right. I don't want to overstay my welcome here, anyway." She got to her feet. "Thank you, for giving me this time."

"You're more than welcome," Rhianna said sincerely. "And feel free to stop by again by later if you have any more questions. Or if you want to, you know, just visit."

Solona and Jowan went off together, and Rhianna poked around at the books on her shelf for a few minutes. Just when she'd decided upon one that didn't sound magical in nature – "The Rose of Orlais," which appeared to be some sort of romance between a noblewoman and a chevalier - there was a knock at the door.

Rhianna looked up to see a familiar face: the man who had barged in on Rhianna's bath earlier.

"Excuse me, my lady."

"Hello. Cullen, is that right?"

"Yes, my lady." His face turned slightly pink. "I understand you want to go up to the roof?"

"Yes. I would very much appreciate it, if you don't mind escorting me."

"Of course. I'd be more than happy to do so."

Getting to the top of the tower turned out to be more arduous than Rhianna had anticipated. On each floor, the stairway to the floor above was only reached by walking all the way around to the other end. So, Rhianna and Cullen had ample time to chat along the way.

"Did your mage ever turn up? What was his name? Andrew?"

"Anders. And no, he hasn't turned up yet. We believe he was able to get out of the tower somehow, but he won't get far. Templars are looking for him, and I've no doubt that they'll catch up with him soon."

"What will happen to him if they do? Will he be . . . punished?"

"He'll be brought back to the tower, where he belongs."

"Oh. Well, I suppose being forced to live here in this prison is punishment enough, then."

"This isn't a prison, my lady. And they're not forced to live here on some whim. It's for their safety as well as the safety of everyone else."

"And you know this, how? Have you actually seen a mage become an abomination? What's it like?"

"Well . . . no, I haven't seen anything like that. Not personally. I only took my vows a short while ago, so this is still new to me."

"So you don't even know what an abomination looks like? How are you supposed to know when to fight? Is it obvious?"

"Well, I know there's a transformation. It is obvious, at least some of the time. Unless the demon manages to hide itself from everyone else."

"Demons can hide themselves?" Rhianna arched a brow. "Then abominations might be walking among us right now? For all you know, I could be one." Rhianna knew she was goading him just a bit, but she didn't care, not after what had happened that morning.

"Well, you see, this is exactly why mages need to be in the Circle. Because you can't tell. But only mages can become abominations. You're no mage, are you?"

"No. I'm not a mage. Just a woman who wonders why you're convinced mages are so horrible. We had a court mage at Highever. I knew him for years and years and he never became an abomination. Nor did the court mage in Denerim. I was friends with her, as well."

"They were lucky, then, both of them. Or strong-willed. Look, I'm not the one who put the mages here, but I do believe it's for the best. For them and for the rest of us."

"You sound very confident of that."

"I am confident. I serve the Maker first and foremost. As long as I am guided by His commandments, I cannot go wrong."

Ah. The Maker. Yes, that's the way to end a debate right away; what argument was there to make against such blind faith? No doubt Cullen would be disinterested, offended even, to know that lately, Rhianna had doubts in the perfection of the Maker and his commandments.

So, she fell silent, and they walked the rest of the way without speaking at all.

When they reached the roof, Cullen did not follow as she and Dane walked out into the sunshine. The templar merely stood near the door they had just exited, and watched. It seems that was what templars do best. Watch and wait, and be ready to stab things with their swords if there was any trouble.

The door had opened to the north, and she found herself looking out over the hills through which she and Duncan had just traveled. On the other side of those hills lay Highever, or what was left of it.

Images flashed through her mind: her father, as he clutched at his side. Oren, on his back in a pool of his own blood. The halls filled with smoke, as sinister firelight flickered from piles of furniture set alight. The back of Ser Gilmore's head as he walked away. Blood dripping from the sword in her mother's hand.

Rhianna's breath caught in her chest, and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Grief flooded through her, followed swiftly by guilt, hot and thick.

It was her fault. All of it. If only she'd woken up sooner, Oren and Oriana might still be alive. If she'd run faster, they might have reached her father in time. And why hadn't she guessed Howe might do something like this? He'd always been despicable; surely, there was some clue, only she hadn't paid enough attention. She'd been so wrapped up in her own dramas over the past year – crying about Loghain, and then Gauvain - she'd ignored everything else.

And now her family was dead. What if she could have done something to stop it?

She choked back a sob.

No. She didn't want to think about any of those things, and she certainly wasn't going to let herself cry in front of this haughty, ridiculous templar, so she turned and walked to the other side of the roof, putting Highever behind her.

Here, Lake Calenhad stretched out to the south, dark blue and beautiful as sunlight glinted off its glassy surface. She stared down at the water, and at the trees along its shore, and then up at the few puffy clouds that drifted in the sky. It was a glorious view, and she focused on the colors, and the shapes, as she took one deep, slow breath after another, and rested her hands on the waist-high stone wall that ringed the roof.

What had happened to the man who escaped? Anders. She felt sorry for him, even though she knew nothing about him, other than the fact he'd escaped. He might be young or old, thin or fat. Perhaps he was loathsome and stupid, or he might be charming and handsome. But none of that mattered. Regardless of what sort of person he was, Rhianna felt a sense of kinship with him. Forced to live in this tower, as Rhianna was being forced to join the Grey Wardens. A man who was so unhappy, he would do anything to be somewhere other than where he was. She knew how that felt, as well. Except in her case, she feared she would be unhappy no matter where she went.

With any luck, Anders had managed to escape. Managed to get away to some place the templars couldn't find him.

Escape.

Perhaps that's what she should do, as well. Before this ritual changed her life forever, or killed her outright.

She looked to the southwest. Gherlen's Pass was such a short distance from here, and on the other side was Orlais.

Orlais, and Gauvain. His smile, the light in his brown eyes, the way his hair hung slightly down onto his forehead. His soft, warm skin, so dark against her own pale flesh. His perfect lips, and the way her name rolled off his tongue like music.

She could go to him. Once she and Duncan left Kinloch Hold, it would be simple to sneak away in the middle of the night, and make her way through the pass to Jader, and hop on a ship to Val Chevin. Gauvain would welcome her with open arms, and would protect her from anything or anyone that tried to harm her. As would his cousin, the empress, and Rhianna wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life fighting darkspawn with the Grey Wardens. Maker knows she felt no loyalty to the Wardens or to Duncan, nor did she feel compelled to honor his conscription of her, done in the midst of blackmailing her dying father. She could go to Orlais, and Duncan wouldn't be able to do anything to stop her.

Except that most of the reasons she left Orlais in the first place were still valid. Rhianna couldn't have children with Gauvain, not if those children could someday pose a threat to Ferelden, and he already had a family he loved. As for Duncan, it was true she felt no loyalty to him, but at the same time, he had been kind, treated her well during their travels. If he'd been harsh and brutal, she'd have left and not looked back. But, for all he'd ignored her wishes, he was a good man at heart. And joining the Wardens was the last thing her father had asked of her. How could she face him, when they met again at the side of the Maker, if she ran away from her duty?

When it came down to it, though, there was one reason that rose above all the others: she couldn't abandon her homeland while it was under attack by the darkspawn.

She put her hand to her chest, to the place where the silver hawk would have hung if she were wearing it. But the pendant from Gauvain, along with most of the things Loghain had given her, had been left behind in the castle. Perhaps they were hidden well enough that Howe would never discover them. She hoped so. Even if she never returned to the castle, it turned her stomach to think of Howe or any of his men pawing through those things that were so precious to her.

Rhianna leaned out over the edge of the crenellated roof and looked down. It was a long way to the bottom. A very long way.

Her hands clutched more tightly at the wall, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

There was another way out.

If she really didn't want to be a Warden, there was another way out. If she couldn't face living in this world without her family at her side, there was a way out.

It would be so simple. All she had to do was lean far enough forward, and over the edge she would tumble before Cullen could stop her. She would be free of all of these worries, free of the grief and the guilt and the shame. Free of the dread of what the future would bring. No longer would she feel the loss of Gauvain, or the heartbreak Loghain had caused her.

What would be on the other side? Would Andraste be there? Or would the beloved prophet turn away from a woman who had taken her own life?

More importantly, would her parents be there? Oriana, Oren? Nan? King Maric, perhaps? The Chantry teaches that when people who have lived their lives by the Chant die, they end up at the side of the Maker. Surely, this meant all the people Rhianna loved were there, with Him. Was this her opportunity to rejoin them? She couldn't imagine anything more wonderful.

She leaned further out, and a gust of wind whipped through her hair and pushed her slightly off balance.

With a gasp, she stepped away from the wall, frightened by her own thoughts.

No. How could she even consider such a thing? Just thinking about it was sinful and wrong. And what of Fergus? Assuming he was still alive, Rhianna was all he had left. How would he feel to learn that his sister, his beloved sister, had died, too. Not by being murdered at Highever, but by throwing herself from a tower?

She couldn't do that. Not to Fergus. She couldn't leave him all alone.

Dane huffed softly, from where he sat beside her. _Don't leave me alone, either. _

Maker. Of course Dane knew what she was thinking; he always knew what she was thinking. He wouldn't have let her do it. He'd been ready to grab her leg and pull her back, if it came to that.

She dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around his neck, as fear carved an empty space in her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I won't think about it any more. I won't. I promise."

He licked her neck, his tongue warm against her skin.

No, there was no escape for her – of any kind. She would stay with Duncan, go with him to Ostagar and the Grey Wardens and go through this Maker-damned ritual of theirs, and that would be that. She would be a Grey Warden, assuming she didn't die in the process, and she'd fight the darkspawn until they were defeated, and then she'd worry about what came next. If there were as many darkspawn in the south as Duncan said there were, it was possible that her life as a Grey Warden wouldn't last all that long. In which case her worries would be over, and that would be all right, too. As long as it hadn't been by her own hand.

She stood, and returned to the door. "I'm ready to go back downstairs," she announced.

Cullen gave her a quizzical look, but nodded and gestured that she should lead the way.

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna went in search for Duncan, intending to fulfill her promise to Solona. She found him in the library.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," he answered. "Not yet."

"Can I help?"

Before he could answer, the tower shook violently, and something that sounded like the blast of an explosion echoed below their feet.

"That sounded like it came from downstairs," Duncan said. Together, they hurried through the tower, and down to the first floor.

When they emerged in the large central hallway, it was in chaos. Two men lie on their backs on the floor; one of them appeared to be the First Enchanter. Solona Amell knelt at his side, as if to help him back up on his feet. The other prone man, a templar judging by his armor, was being helped off the floor by another of his order. The Knight-Commander was there as well, his face pale and his mouth grim, and a young woman in Chantry robes cowered near the stairs that led to a lower floor of the tower.

"So what you said was true, Irving." Greagoir's voice echoed throughout the hall. "An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage." He looked at the woman in robes. "She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then. The initiate has betrayed us." To the woman, "I'm disappointed in you, Lily. You have scorned both the Chantry and your vows. You will be sent to Aeonar, the mage's prison."

The young woman gasped. "No. Please. Not that . . . not Aeonar. I . . . I . . ."

"It wasn't her fault, Knight-Commander." Solona's voice sounded strained. "She didn't know Jowan was a blood mage."

Greagoir wheeled around to face her. "And did you know that he was?"

"Of course not! We had no idea he was a maleficar. All we knew was that you were planning to perform the Rite of Tranquility upon him, instead of letting him attempt his Harrowing. Perhaps he would never have resorted to blood magic if he hadn't been in fear for his life!"

"Tranquility is not a death sentence, girl," the Knight-Commander barked.

"Then you don't even deny it?" she argued back. "You don't deny you were going to make him tranquil?"

"Some mages are unable to control their power, Solona." Irving looked and sounded exhausted, hardly the cheerful man they had spoken with earlier in the day. "You knew of this beforehand. You could have told me of this plan, of Jowan's intent to break into the Repository and destroy his phylactery? And yet you didn't."

Solona stood taller, undaunted. "Tell you? So you could make him Tranquil that much sooner? I thought you cared for us, but you don't, do you? You don't really care at all for what happens to us. Is it enough to bow to the Chantry's every whim?"

"Solona-" Irving began.

"That's enough!" Greagoir's voice echoed through the large hall. "This is unacceptable, Irving, You've lost control. A blood mage on the loose and no way to track him down. An initiate breaking every vow she ever took. And this one," he turned to Solona. "Newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the Circle. You know why the Repository exists. Some magics are locked away for a reason! You helped a blood mage escape. All our prevention measures for naught. Because of you!"

"None of us expected this, Greagoir," the First Enchanter responded, and turned to Solona. "Did you take anything from the Repository?" Irving asked.

"No." Her forehead creased, as though the question offended her. "Of course not."

"But your antics have made a mockery of this Circle!" Greagoir took a step toward Solona.

"It will be all right, Greagoir," Irving said smoothly. "The man can't have gone far. You'll capture him."

"Believe me, we will use our every resource. Although I'd feel better about our chances if half of my templars weren't already out searching for that Maker-damned Anders. He should have been made tranquil after his last attempt!"

"We don't make Harrowed mages tranquil, Greagoir," Irving murmured, and the two men exchanged a glance that made Rhianna uncomfortable.

"Be that as it may." Greagoir crossed his arms in front of him, and stared at Solona. "Now we must decide what is going to happen to you."

"Do what you like." Solona raised her chin defiantly. "I stand by my decision to help Jowan."

Duncan strode forward, and Rhianna followed at his side.

"Knight-Commander, if I may," he began. "I think I have a solution that will benefit all concerned. I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else. From what little I've just heard, this mage has the sort of dedication that will serve her well if she joins the Grey Wardens."

"Duncan," Greagoir replied, "this mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of regard for the Circle's rules. She is a danger to all of us."

"It's a rare person who risks all for a friend in need," Rhianna said softly. Everyone turned, as if surprised that she had spoken. Duncan gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and Solona threw her a brief, but grateful smile.

"Irving spoke highly of this mage," Duncan said firmly. "And I would like her to join the Warden ranks."

Solona spoke up in a firm voice. "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will go, gladly."

"No!" Greagoir's face darkened with anger. "A blood mage escapes and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden? Are our rules nothing?"

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan said calmly. "Worse things plague this world than blood mages. Darkspawn are a greater threat than even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a blight. We must stop at nothing to defeat the darkspawn." He took a step toward Solona. "I will take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions."

"Have we lost all authority over our mages?" Greagoir's eyes flashed as he looked from Irving to Duncan to Solona and back to Irving again.

"Enough." The First Enchanter's voice sounded exhausted, but there was a hint of something else as well. Relief, perhaps. "We have no more say in this matter. You know as well as I do that Duncan can invoke the Right of Conscription, so let's not make it more difficult than it needs to be. Solona Amell will be allowed to join the Grey Wardens. As he said, mages are needed. And at least with her out of the tower, she will give you no further worries, Greagoir."

"This does not bode well, Irving," Greagoir said through a clenched jaw, and strode angrily from the room. The other two templars, one of them leading Lily by the arm, followed close behind.

The four people who remained in the room were silent for the space of several breaths, as if too shocked by what had just happened to think of anything to say. Finally, the First Enchanter broke the silence.

"I regret it had to come to this, Solona. You show great promise, and I hope you are able to realize that promise within the Grey Wardens."

"Is this it, then?" Solona's voice was small and scared, in contrast to the way she had sounded when she stood up to the Knight-Commander. "Am I to leave the Circle forever?"

"Yes, my child. I'm afraid so. The Circle never forgets its apprentices, but the Grey Wardens shall be your family now."

Solona bit her bottom lip and stared at the bearded man. Then she nodded her head slowly.

"Come." Duncan put his hand on her shoulder. "Your new life awaits."

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Many, many thanks to my beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and AmandaKitswell, and also to all my wonderful reviewers: Skidney, KrystylSky, KatDancer2, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and a Guest.

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_**This chapter contains a Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts. **_

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	8. More than you can carry

_**25 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Lothering**__**  
**_

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Just as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Rhianna and her companions arrived in Lothering. The first thing they saw as they came in along the paved road from the north was a large windmill that rose above farm fields and meadows, its blades turning in the gentle wind. The town was spread out just beyond, framed by tree-dotted hills in the distance.

Lothering was rustic, but pretty - a modest collection of buildings that spanned both sides of a small river that ran through the center of the town. To the west, a chantry spire loomed near the single bridge that connected the two halves of the town, and to the south was an array of wagons and tents. There were far more people in the streets than seemed usual for a town this size, although it didn't appear to be a market day.

With any luck, they'd be able to restock their supplies and find beds for the night. The thought of sleep in an actual bed sounded embarrassingly delightful. In years past, camping had always been a pleasure. Rhianna had loved nights spent out in the wilderness with Fergus, just the two of them. They'd cooked over the fire, and looked up the stars, and she was assured of having her brother's complete attention. But they'd never stayed out more than two nights in a row, so she'd never realized just how uncomfortable it was spending night after night on the ground, and how lackluster dried rations and the sort of food that could be cooked over a campfire seemed when it was the only thing one ate for days on end.

And of course, Rhianna and Fergus had never worried that assassins might sneak up and murder them in their sleep. Since leaving Kinloch Hold, they'd seen no signs of Howe's men, although it was probably too much to hope that Howe had given up on wanting Rhianna dead. It was exhausting, having to be always alert to the possibility of an attack, and feeling as though danger lurked around every corner.

So, she was pleased when Duncan had agreed they could stay the night in Lothering. A full meal, and a warm bed behind a locked door would do wonders for her morale.

They had spent one more night at Kinloch Hold, so Solona could pack her few possessions and say goodbye to the life she had known for so many years. After dinner - a subdued affair, served in Duncan's bedchamber for the three of them and Dane - Solona had come to Rhianna with a request.

"I wonder," she began rather tentatively, "if it would be all right if I spent the night in your room?" The surprise Rhianna felt at this evaporated with the mage's next words. "I was given quarters here on the second floor, with the rest of the enchanters . . . but everyone keeps looking at me sort of suspiciously. I suppose I can't blame them, really, but if you don't mind, I think it would be more comfortable for everyone if I just stayed here instead of sleeping with the other mages. Besides . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What? Is there something else worrying you?"

"Oh, I don't know." She bit her bottom lip. "It's probably foolish, but the knight-commander was very angry." She didn't explain further, but Rhianna could fill in the blank: what if Greagoir changed his mind about allowing Solona to leave, and sent his templars to take her into custody.

"Of course you can stay here," Rhianna replied. "You're more than welcome to stay with me."

Solona brought in her things - just a single pack that didn't appear very full - and the two women got ready for bed. It was a bit early to actually go to sleep, though, so they sat down to talk until it was late enough to turn in for the night. Rhianna had her dagger close at hand; she wasn't entirely certain there was nothing to fear from the templars.

"What's he like?" Solona asked, once they were settled on the sofa with cups of steaming, fragrant tea in their hands, made with water Solona had heated magically in an instant.

Rhianna's brow creased. "What's who like?"

Solona laughed. "I'm sorry, that made no sense at all, did it, coming out of the blue? I meant Duncan. What's he like? Tomorrow I'll be leaving here with him, and I really don't know anything about him at all. It's a bit . . . overwhelming."

It was a reasonable question, but how to answer it? Rhianna's relationship with Duncan had gotten off to an uncomfortable start, to say the least.

"Let's see. Duncan is a bit difficult to get to know. He doesn't talk a lot, especially about Grey Warden business, but on the whole, he's been kind, while we've traveled together. He treats me with respect. And he's a . . . gentleman. He's never said or done anything inappropriate."

"That's good to know. I . . ." Solona chewed at her bottom lip. "I'm being stupid, aren't I? This is what I said I wanted. To go south and fight the darkspawn. To leave the Circle. But now that it's happening . . . well, I just never expected it to be so . . . final. And tomorrow I'll be leaving here with a man I don't know at all, and . . . I'm just so glad you'll be with us."

"You're not being stupid. I was afraid of him at first, too." Although Rhianna suspected her own fears had been of a somewhat different nature than Solona's. Rhianna had never been nervous about traveling with Duncan; the thing she feared had come to pass when he conscripted her. Perhaps she should have been nervous about other things, but she knew how to defend herself. Of course, Solona was a mage; couldn't she defend herself, as well? "But you don't need to worry about Duncan. I know he's a bit intimidating, at first. But he's a good man. I've come to understand that much about him."

"Thank you." Solona let out a breath. "Maker, I must seem like such a baby."

"No, not at all. It's reasonable to be nervous. You're leaving your home, and all the people you know, all your friends."

"I suppose so." Solona shrugged. "I mean, yes. Of course, there are people I'll miss. Jowan, for one. Right now, though, everyone I know seems a bit afraid of me, because of what he did, with my help."

"Is he really a blood mage like the knight-commander said?"

Solona's eyes widened slightly, as though she had not expected this question. Then she shrugged. "Yes, I suppose he is. I mean, I saw him . . . I saw him cut open his hand and use the blood to cast a spell. Just before you and Duncan came into the hall."

"But you didn't know beforehand?"

"No. I had no idea. Jowan and I had been friends for years. I honestly would never have thought him capable of such a thing. Partly because he is a good person. I know that much is true, in spite of what he did. But also . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Also what?"

"He's never been that . . . talented. Magically, I mean. Almost no one believed he'd be capable of surviving his Harrowing, and he believed the First Enchanter would never ever him try to go through with it. Perhaps that's why he turned to blood magic. Looking for some way to make himself strong enough to avoid being made tranquil."

"What does that mean? Being made tranquil?"

"It's what happens to mages who can't control their magic. There's a ritual, or something, that severs the mage's connection with the Fade. That way, they can't dream, and they can't be approached by demons. But . . ." Solona's nose wrinkled and her eyes darkened. "It also removes the ability to do magic, and it disconnects the mage from their emotions, as well."

"What do you mean? Disconnects them from their emotions?"

"Just how it sounds. They don't feel things anymore. Passion or anger."

"Or love?"

"Or love."

"That sounds awful. How could anyone do that to another person?"

"It's a kindness," Solona replied, although her expression was skeptical. "At least that's what they tell us. A protection from demons, and other dangers of magic. To be fait, those who are made tranquil don't seem unhappy. Not really. Of course, they don't seem to feel anything else, either."

"And Jowan didn't want this to happen?"

"No, he didn't. I've never known a mage who wished for it, although they say some do. Not Jowan, though. I . . . well, I wish there had been more I could have done to help him."

"But you did help him. He's away from the Circle, and perhaps the templars won't be able to find him."

"That's true . . . but he's also all on his own out there. He doesn't know anything about living in the world. Neither do I, but I'll have you and Duncan to help me. Jowan won't have anyone. What if he can't find shelter, or feed himself. He might have to resort to blood magic again, which will make him more susceptible to being possessed by a demon, and becoming an abomination."

"You don't know that's what will happen." Rhianna took one of Solona's hands, and squeezed it gently. "Maybe he'll be just fine."

"Perhaps. I hope so."

"Do you know the other mage who escaped? Anders?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes, I know him. Not very well, but well enough to say hello in the hallway. Why do you ask?"

"Well, with two of them gone at the same time, the templars will have to split their efforts. Perhaps that will give both of them a better chance of getting away."

"Perhaps it will. I hope so, anyway."

Although, what Solona had said about Jowan not knowing how to take care of himself made Rhianna wonder how this Anders would fare, out in the world. It sounded as though Anders had escaped before, but always been captured again. Perhaps mages who lived in the Circle really weren't prepared for life out in the real world.

In which case Jowan probably didn't stand much of a chance, either, but there was no point in worrying Solona with such unpleasant thoughts.

‹›‹O›‹›

The next morning, they left the Circle Tower at dawn, on the same boat that had brought them across the lake. As Kester rowed them farther and farther from the tower, Rhianna could feel as the tension she'd held in her shoulders – tension from the Circle's strange, oppressive atmosphere – slipped mercifully away.

Rhianna had suggested they hire a boat, and travel south on the lake, but Duncan preferred to go overland. He hoped to find one of the Dalish clans that made their home in Ferelden, so they set off to the south on foot.

Solona was a pleasant companion, friendly and curious, but without being pushy. When she and Rhianna walked together, they spoke of insignificant things, mostly, although Rhianna did share some details about her family, and what had happened to them back in Highever. Solona seemed not to want to talk about her life in the tower; instead, the young mage was fascinated with everything she saw, and pointed out one thing after another along their way.

Sometimes, Solona left Rhianna to her thoughts and walked with Duncan instead. Apparently, what Rhianna had said about him put Solona's mind at ease, as she seemed comfortable with him now, and not intimidated at all. Solona managed to elicit more conversation from him than Rhianna had been able to do, although he still kept quiet about Grey Warden secrets. It was comforting to listen to them talk. Not to the words they said, but simply to the cadence of their voices as they walked ahead of her and Dane. It gave her something to occupy her mind, without having to gather the energy to participate. It was also something of a relief not to be the sole focus of Duncan's attention.

For nearly a week they had walked, from dawn to sunset, and then slept on the hard packed earth near the road. Rhianna was cheered by the idea that tonight, they would be able to sleep in beds - assuming there was a room to be had at the local inn.

Now, as they passed through the meadow and approached the village, a group of children were clustered around a cage, shouting taunts at whoever was trapped inside. It was a man. A very large man, possibly the largest man Rhianna had ever seen.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

"I hope you die, you ugly freak!"

The man seemed not to care about the children's shouts. Instead, he chanted words in a quiet but steady voice: "_Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_."

A red-haired boy of about ten picked up a rock and threw it through the bars of the cage. It hit the man on the chest, but he remained motionless; he didn't even glance in the boy's direction. He merely continued to chant in a language Rhianna didn't recognize at all.

When a second child bent to pick up a rock, Rhianna rushed to grab him by the arm.

"That's enough of that."

The child in her grasp looked up at her with a mix of horror and surprise, and she glared at him a moment, and then turned to look at each of the children in turn, now she had their attention.

"Leave him alone," she said firmly. "All of you"

"Who in the Void are you, to tell us what to do?" sneered the boy who had thrown the rock. "And what are you going to do if we don't?"

What? Never in her life had a child in Highever spoken to her like this. They were always respectful, and never questioned anything she asked them to do.

Then again, the children in Highever had known better than to behave so badly in front of her. Hopefully, they had known better than to behave so badly at all.

She stood straighter, and put a hand on one hip. "Do you see that dog there?" She glanced back at Dane, who crouched and bared his teeth slightly. "Do you think he bites?"

Again, she glanced at each of the children in turn; none of them responded to her question.

"Well, if you're curious to see whether or not he does, just go ahead and throw another rock, and we'll see what happens."

The child whose arm she was holding yanked away from her grasp, dropped the rock he was holding, and took off running. The other children did the same, scattering in various directions. The one who had spoken lasted the longest, his chin lifted defiantly, but when he realized all the others had abandoned him, he, too, ran off without another word.

Rhianna approached the cage and had a closer look at the man inside. His height wasn't the only remarkable thing about him. Not only was he tall, but he was massive, with a broad chest and huge, muscular arms. His skin was dark bronze, and his white hair was braided closely along his scalp. He didn't smile, but neither did he appear angry.

"You are not one of my captors," he said, without even glancing in her direction. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."

"I am not here to be amused," Rhianna said. "I didn't like to see those children tormenting you, so I chased them off."

"That was unnecessary," he said. "Their words did not trouble me, and any pain they might have caused would have been well-deserved."

"Fair enough," she replied. "Their behavior needed to be corrected for their sakes, then, if not for yours. Children must learn to behave properly."

"In that you speak the truth," he agreed. He glanced at her, but only for a moment before he looked straight ahead again.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Seven days, now."

"And who was it who locked you away?"

"I am here by order of the woman who runs the village Chantry."

The Revered Mother had ordered this? This man must have done something awful.

"Do they feed you?"

"No."

"That's a long time to go without food or water," Solona said.

"For one of your kind, perhaps," he replied. "But for me, it is not nearly long enough. I expect I will last several more days. Weeks, perhaps."

"Would you like some food? Or water?" Rhianna offered.

"Tempting, but I shall decline." Another glance in Rhianna's direction. "Were you in my position, would you prolong your imprisonment?"

Duncan tugged gently at the sleeve of her shirt. "Let's go."

Rhianna shrugged, and allowed herself to be led away into town.

"I wonder why he's in that cage," Solona whispered. "He didn't look at all Fereldan, did he? I'm not sure he was even human!"

"He isn't human," Duncan replied. "He's one of the Qunari. A people who hail from Seheron and Par Vollen. I have no guess, however, as to the answer to your first question."

Rhianna glanced back at the man one more time. "Are they really going to leave him in there to die?" That sounded horrific.

"He must've done something to incur the justice of the Chantry," Duncan said. "And yes, I suspect they do intend to leave him to starve to death."

"That's . . . barbaric," Solona said. "Isn't there something we can do?"

"The Chantry doesn't look well upon others interfering in their business," Duncan replied.

"He looks very strong," Rhianna said. "Don't we need warriors, to fight the darkspawn? Perhaps you could recruit him into the Wardens. That would save his life, and benefit the army as well."

Duncan glanced at Rhianna. "The Qunari are not well suited for becoming Grey Wardens. The belief system they follow is rigid, and leaves little room for being loyal to any other cause." He shook his head. "It is not for us to interfere with that man's fate."

Duncan's jaw was set; clearly, he had no more to say on the subject. So, Rhianna pushed it from her mind. It made her uncomfortable to just leave him there, but it wasn't really any of her business, after all.

As soon as they entered the town proper, they came upon a large inn on their left, and Duncan led them in that direction. Dane's Refuge looked promising. A fired blazed in the large hearth, and the place bustled with people. The smell of roasted meat wafted out from the kitchen, and musicians played on the landing up above the common room. When Duncan went to inquire about rooms for the night, Rhianna turned to Solona.

"What are their names? Your cousins, I mean. Where do you think we should start looking?"

"Start looking? What are you talking about?"

"You said they live here in Lothering, right? Or did, the last time you heard anything about them. Don't you want to try and find them?"

"Oh." She blinked. "Yes, well, maybe. I mean, yes, definitely. I'd love to see them if they're still here." She bit her bottom lip. "I just don't know if they'll want to see me."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen them in years and years. I hardly remember them, to be honest. Maybe they'd just rather not have anything to do with me? Besides," Solona glanced at the staff strapped to her back, "in case you haven't noticed, people are already staring at me. I don't want to draw any unwanted attention to them, not with my cousin's husband being an apostate."

It was true; people had noticed Solona's attire. "I see what you mean about attention. But I can't imagine they wouldn't want to see you. You're family, after all." She paused. "If you like, you could stay here with Duncan, and I'll go out into the town and see if I can find out anything about them."

"You'd do that? You really wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. What is the family name?"

"Hawke. Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. And they have three children. Josefina, Bethany and Carver."

"All right. When Duncan returns, just let him know where I've gone. I'll be back as soon as I find out anything interesting." She handed the girl her backpack. "In the meantime, why don't you change out of those robes, and into some of my clothes. You'll blend in better that way. I probably should have suggested this before we came into town."

"That's a good idea." Solona smiled warmly. "Thank you."

Rhianna walked out of the inn into the sunlight, not entirely sure where to start looking. Solona was right about not drawing unwelcome attention, and Rhianna didn't want to ask the wrong people and risk trouble. So, first, she strolled around to get the lay of the land. She crossed the bridge that connected the north and the south sections of town, and saw the Chantry to her left. A templar stood watch at the door. Best not to ask there.

She continued toward the south end of town, and discovered there were even more people here than she'd originally thought. A refugee camp had sprung up in what had obviously been open fields until recently, with tents, and cots, and bedrolls laid out directly on the ground. People fleeing the darkspawn, no doubt. Did this mean the creatures had started coming out of the Korcari Wilds, in spite of the king's efforts to stop them?

Rhianna turned north again. Surely, none of the refugees would be able to help, and she didn't want to ask town guards either. She crossed back over the bridge, and spotted an elderly woman in conversation with a woman and her young son. A man carrying some wooden planks walked by and greeted her, and she smiled warmly and called back to him by name. This woman had the look of being well known in town; perhaps she would be a good person to ask about the Hawke family.

"Good day, my lady," Rhianna said, when the mother and her son had walked away.

"Good day to you, my dear." The older woman gave a genuine smile that lit up her eyes, and coughed into her hand. "You got a bed for the night? You taken care of?" Ah, so perhaps this woman was also helping the refugees.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'm well equipped to camp if there's nowhere else to stay. But I appreciate the thought. I was wondering, do you live here in Lothering? You haven't just arrived recently?"

"I've lived here my whole life. What brings you to Lothering, my girl?"

"Me and my companions are just passing through on our way to Ostagar."

"Ah. Well, you're moving against the tide, that much is certain. Off to join up with the king's army, then?"

"Yes."

"May the Maker bless you for that. News from the south has been . . . troubling of late. To say the least. My name is Miriam, by the way."

"I'm Rhianna. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"So, you're not in search of lodgings. Is there something else you needed? You have the look of someone with a question to ask."

Rhianna smiled. "I do have a question." She stepped closer and spoke softly. "I'm wondering if you can tell me if a family still lives in the area. They're called Hawke, and a friend of mine would like very much to see them, if they haven't moved away."

Miriam's eyes narrowed slightly. "And just what is it that your friend wants with the Hawkes, may I ask?"

"She's a cousin of theirs. Her name is Amell?"

"Amell, did you say? Hmnh. Well, you certainly don't look like a templar, that's in your favor." The woman inhaled deeply, and let the breath out again very slowly. "The Hawkes still live here. Outside of town. Go north, and then west. There's a house there, small but well kept. You should find Leandra there."

"Thank you, Miriam. I appreciate this."

Rhianna had no trouble locating the house, and knocked on the door. After a long wait, it was opened by a handsome, dark-skinned woman with graying hair that curled down to her shoulders. She didn't smile, and her eyes regarded Rhianna with suspicion.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Leandra Hawke?"

"I am." She glanced at Dane, who sat on his haunches and wagged his stub of a tail. "And who are you?"

"My name is Rhianna. I've come here on behalf of a friend of mine. Her name is Solona Amell."

The woman's eyes grew wide."Solona? Revka's daughter?"

"I suppose so. I don't know her mother's name."

"She's all right, I hope. Nothing's happened to her?"

"No. Well, yes, something's happened, but she's fine. She's here, actually. In Lothering. We're on our way to Ostagar, so we'll only be here a short time. But she'd like to come and see you, and the rest of the family, if that's all right with you?"

The woman smiled broadly, and tiny creases formed at her eyes. "Yes. That would be wonderful. It's only Bethany and me here right now, though. My other two children are at Ostagar, with the king's army."

"And what about your husband? Malcolm?"

"Malcolm died three years ago, I'm afraid. Solona didn't know?"

"No. She wasn't even sure you'd still be living here. It had been a while since she'd had news."

"But why is she here? And not at the Circle?"

"Perhaps I should let her explain that herself?"

"Of course. Why don't the two of you come back just after dark. We'll have dinner together, all of us. Do you need a place to stay? I expect the inn is full up. You're more than welcome to stay the night here, as well, both of you, and your hound."

"We have another companion with us, as well. The Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. Would it be all right if he came along?"

After moment of hesitation, she replied, "Of course. I see no reason that would be a problem." She paused. "Just . . . please . . . if you could ask Solona to . . . oh, I hate having to say this."

"To make sure it's not obvious that she's a mage?"

Leandra smiled, and the tension went out of her shoulders. "You understand. Yes. I wish it didn't have to be like that, but I have to be careful, that's all." She shook her head. "Revka's daughter, here in Lothering. I never expected to see her again." She chuckled softly. "Thank you for coming, and I'll see you again this evening."

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna returned to Dane's Refuge to discover Duncan and Solona huddled together at a small table in the corner. Solona wore one of Rhianna's shirts and a pair of her trousers, and her staff rested against the wall, with a cloth tied over the top to make it look like a bindle for carrying her gear. Rhianna pulled over a chair from a nearby table and joined them.

"Unfortunately," Duncan began, "I was unable to secure a room for the night. Too many refugees have come from the south, and there isn't a bed to be had in the whole of the town, according to the innkeeper. So, we'll just find what supplies we can, and then camp outside the city."

"That won't be necessary," Rhianna said. "I've found a place for us to stay." She turned to Solona. "I found your family, and we've been invited to dinner and to spend the night. All of us."

"You found them?" Her face lit up like a beacon. "That's . . . oh, Rhianna, that's wonderful! I honestly hadn't thought they'd still be here." She turned to Duncan. "We can stay the night with them, can't we?"

Duncan lifted a brow, and shrugged a shoulder. "Of course. I didn't realize you had family here in town."

"I wasn't sure if they still lived here, so I didn't mention it. Rhianna was the one who brought it up, actually. I'd told her about them days ago, and she thought we should see if they were still here."

"Well, that works out well, doesn't it?" he replied.

"That monster killed three families!" The voice of a man at a nearby table rose above the din and caught their attention. "Tore them up like a beast. The cage is too good for him, but it's the Chantry's idea of mercy."

Rhianna and Solona shared a glance. "They're talking about that man, aren't they?" the mage murmured. "The Qunari we saw earlier."

"Yes," Duncan agreed. "It seems they are."

"He didn't seem like a murderer," Rhianna mused aloud.

"Such things are not always readily apparent," Duncan said.

That was certainly true. Rhianna had never guessed that Rendon Howe would be capable of murdering her entire family, and he'd done just that.

A weight settled in her stomach at the memory of what had happened in Highever, and she no longer wanted to be here, sitting in this inn, surrounded by people and their tavern gossip and talk of dark deeds.

She pushed herself up out of the chair. "I'm going to wander around town again," Rhianna told her companions.

"Do you want some company?" Solona asked.

"No, thank you." Rhianna didn't want to impose her dark mood on anyone else. "I think I might go to the Chantry and light some candles."

Yes. This is exactly what she would do. Light candles, and listen to whatever verse of the Chant of Light was being read. Perhaps she would find something there that would be of comfort.

"I'll be back before night falls," she promised.

The Chantry was by far the largest building in town, larger even than the inn. Compared to the noisy bustle in the streets of Lothering, there were surprisingly few people inside the Chantry. A few sisters going about their business, and two templars in conversation. Not only was it quieter, but the change in atmosphere was palpable. It felt lighter here, and more peaceful, without the tension and dread that seemed to hang in the air in the rest of town.

Near the altar, a lay brother stood and read a passage from Transfigurations:

"_These truths the Maker has revealed to me:_  
_As there is but one world, o__ne life, one death.  
There is b__ut one god, and He is our Maker._

_They are sinners, who have given their love t__o false gods."__  
_

Rhianna slid into one of the wooden pews.

_"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,_  
_From the lowest slaves to the highest kings."_

She sat back on the bench and tried to relax, but found her jaw clenched, and her hands balled into fists.

What was she doing here, listening to a verse from the Chant? There is one god, and he is our Maker? But what good was that, when the Maker didn't care what went on down here? He had withdrawn himself from the world, more than once. The Chant spoke of sinners worshipping false gods, but even those who worshipped the Maker faithfully still suffered.

"_Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children_  
_Are hated and accursed by the Maker."_

Really? Then why hadn't the Maker done something to stop Rendon Howe from murdering her family?

_"All things in this world are finite._  
_What one man gains, another has lost._  
_Those who steal from their brothers and sisters_  
_Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.  
__Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart."__  
_

More foolishness. What good did the Maker's "heavy heart" do anyone? Rhianna had no time for a cruel, remote god who cared nothing for the suffering of the children he was supposed to love.

She let out a ragged sigh. Why had she even come? What comfort could possibly be had here?

Rhianna's eyes alit on the statue of Andraste that stood beside the altar. In her hands, the Prophet held a longsword: the Sword of Mercy. Andraste was associated with mercy, even though it was not the mercy she gave, but that which she received that featured so prominently in her story. The mercy delivered by Archon Hessarian - one of the magisters who decreed she should burn. At the very end, he'd seen the truth in her words, and become unwilling for Andraste to suffer, and put his sword through her heart as she stood on the pyre.

Still, Rhianna did believe Andraste was merciful, and that she had cared, had truly cared, about her people. She cared so much, she'd allowed herself to be sacrificed on their behalf. Andraste was worthy of Rhianna's worship, even if the Maker was not. And perhaps the Beloved Prophet would have mercy to spare for a girl in such desperate need of it.

But was there anything Andraste could do to help those who lived in this world? It was said she sat at the side of the Maker, but what good would that do, if the Maker didn't care?

Perhaps Andraste could help. What was it the Divine had said to her, when Rhianna visited Orlais?

_There is a light in you, that shines very brightly. But surrounding you, so much darkness. You will need to be strong in order to conquer it. But do not be afraid, for Andraste will be with you. The Beloved Prophet will be at your side, and will not just watch from afar, but will touch your life in a way she has touched few others._

Surrounded by darkness. That certainly seemed to be prophetic. There was nothing but darkness in every direction now. But if Divine had spoken the truth, did that mean Andraste was near, as well? That seemed too much to hope for, that Andraste would spare even a thought for Rhianna.

Rhianna looked up at the statue, and the words of the Chant fell upon her ears. What if Andraste did care? What if she cared, and listened. What if there was something she could do to help?

Perhaps Rhianna would pray. It couldn't hurt, anyway. She clasped her hands together in her lap, closed her eyes, and bowed her head in silent prayer.

_Blessed Andraste. I'm not sure what to say, but here I am anyway._

_I miss them so much and I don't know how to stop feeling empty and dead inside. I don't understand why they were taken away. I don't understand what you want from me, and I don't understand . . . much of anything right now. But I'm trying my best._

_Please help me. Please help me to do my best, and to cope with everything that's happened, and to be strong for whatever it is I'm meant to do next. If there is some way I can do good, please help me to do it. _

_And please be with King Cailan, and Loghain, and the Grey Wardens, and all the soldiers at Ostagar. Keep them safe as they battle the darkspawn. Please be at our sides as we fight to protect your beloved Ferelden from this Blight. _

"Thank you," she said aloud, and opened her eyes. For a few more minutes, she sat and listened to the Chant, not hearing the words, but just letting them wash over her instead.

Then, she stood, and crossed to a bank of votives on shelves between a pair of columns. She would light candles for those she had lost. After dropping several coins in the donation box, she took up a lit taper, and touched its flame to the wick of an unlit candle, and then another, and another. Each burst into light in turn: for her mother, her father, Oriana, Oren, Nan, for all the others who died that night in Highever. Finally, she lit one for Fergus, for protection rather than remembrance, as she clung desperately to the hope that he might still be alive.

She replaced the taper in its holder, and stared over the little row of flames she had created as they burned brightly for people she had loved and lost. As her vision stared to blur with tears, someone come to stand beside her. She turned to see a Chantry sister smiling at her.

"I am so glad you are here." The woman spoke with a faint but unmistakable Orlesian accent. She was young – probably not yet thirty - and pretty, with pale skin and red hair trimmed to hang just above her shoulders. Her smile was warm and friendly, as though she greeted a long lost friend, but Rhianna was fairly certain she had never seen this woman before.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Have we met?"

"No. We have not met before."

"Then why are you glad I'm here?" Did Rhianna need to be careful, even here in the Chantry? Perhaps Howe had decided that guards on the road wouldn't get the job done, and he'd sent an assassin of a different sort.

The woman gave a soft chuckle. "I am glad because I can see that you are in pain. Something has hurt you very much. And this," she gestured to the building around them, "the Chantry, taking refuge in Andraste - this is where you will find the help you need to get through whatever it is that troubles you. Andraste can soothe all of your pain. This is why I am glad you are here. You have come exactly where you needed to come, to find peace."

The sister was so earnest, with her open face and her familiar manner, Rhianna felt foolish for thinking this Chantry sister might've been some sort of assassin. And perhaps the woman was right. Certainly, Rhianna must have believed there was something here for her, or she wouldn't have come in the first place.

Even so, she wasn't sure what to say in response to the woman's words.

"Thank you?" she managed after a moment.

"Things will be better for you soon. I am sure of it. The Maker will never burden you with more than you can carry."

The woman placed her hand on Rhianna's shoulder and squeezed gently, and then left Rhianna alone with her thoughts once again.

Things will be better? What did that mean? What things would be better? No amount of time spent praying in the Chantry would bring her family back. And the Maker had already burdened her with what seemed an unbearable load.

To be honest, she wasn't even sure what she wanted from the future. Beating the darkspawn at Ostagar would be good, and protecting Ferelden from being ravaged by those tainted creatures. But beyond that, what? When Rhianna looked ahead, past whatever might happen at Ostagar, there was nothing but darkness. Not even any hint of what her life would look like in the future, assuming there was a future.

She'd be a Grey Warden, but where would she live? What activities would fill her days? What people would be her companions, her friends, her lovers? She simply could not imagine anything beyond the immediate problem of stopping the darkspawn. In truth, she could barely imagine even that.

Best not to think about any of it. Not yet. It was all she could do to get through a single day at a time. The future would take care of itself.

But when she left the Chantry, and made her way back to Dane's Refuge, she did feel better. Just a bit. As if something had lifted - a cloud, perhaps, allowing a small ray of light to penetrate the darkness in which she'd been walking since she left Highever. Was it because she had prayed? Had Andraste noticed, and sent some bit of something good her way? Or perhaps it was the kindness of the Chantry sister.

It hardly mattered what caused it. She was grateful for even a small respite from the grief that surrounded her. Even if it would descend again soon enough, for now, she was grateful.

‹O›

o

‹O›

o

‹O›

_Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and Amanda Kitswell, as well as to all my reviewers: KrystylSky, Skidney, KatDancer2, Milly-finalfantasy and Arsinoe de Blassenville. _

_Originally, I had intended for the next chapter to get us to Ostagar, but I've decided on a slight change of plans. I managed to get the first half of their adventures in Lothering ready to publish today, but the second half still needs a lot of work. So, I've split it into two parts, so you could have this section, at least, as soon as possible. As a result, Chapter 9 will be an evening with the Hawkes, and in Chapter 10, we'll arrive in Ostagar._

‹›‹O›‹›


	9. We'll cross that bridge

_**25 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Lothering**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Just as the sun slipped down beneath the horizon, and the last warm colors of the sunset faded into a deep, rich blue, Solona Amell knocked on the door of a house that stood on the outskirts of Lothering.

The door opened just a crack at first, but then swung wide, to reveal Leandra Hawke with a broad smile on her face.

"Solona? Is that really you?"

"Cousin Leandra?"

The older woman stepped forward, and pulled Solona into her arms. After a brief hesitation, Solona returned the embrace, as Rhianna and Duncan looked on.

"Let me get a good look at you," Leandra said after she pulled away, and took both of Solona's hands in her own. "Maker's breath, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And you look so much like your mother." A smile lit up her entire face. "I'm so happy you're here. I honestly never have expected to see you again."

Something about that smile, and the warmth in Leandra's voice, reminded Rhianna of her own mother, and a wave of grief washed over her. Turning her face away, Rhianna looked out at the windmill as she willed the feeling away; she would not do or say anything that might spoil this reunion for Solona and her family.

"I never expected to be here," Solona replied, "but it's so good to meet you. Well, to see you again, I mean. I know we've met before, when I was small, although to be honest, I only barely remember."

Leandra chuckled. "It's been so many years, and you were very young the last time we met. You can hardly be expected to remember any of us." She stepped back, and gestured for them all to enter the house. "Please, come in, all of you. And welcome." She nodded to Rhianna. "It's good to see you again, and your hound."

"Thank you." As Rhianna came through the door, she found herself in a prettily decorated sitting room, with comfortable furniture, and shelves filled with books, and a vase of flowers on the table.

Solana rested her hand on Duncan's arm. "Cousin Leandra, I'd like you to meet Duncan. He's the Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ser," Leandra replied.

"And you, as well," he said with slight bow. "Thank you for inviting us into your home."

"You're more than welcome." She turned to the end of the room opposite the front door. "Bethany? Come here, darling, and say hello to our guests."

Leandra's daughter stood at the far end of the sitting room, and took a hesitant step closer, but didn't cross the room to join them. She was gorgeous, with large brown eyes, and mahogany skin, and black hair that curled gently down to her shoulders.

"Hello," she said to Solona, with a tentative smile. "I suppose we're cousins, as well?"

"I suppose so," Solona said.

They regarded one another almost warily for the space of a few breaths. Then, simultaneously, both girls moved forward and met in the middle of the room. With beaming smiles, they threw their arms around one another, while Leandra looked on with a bright smile and shining eyes.

"I've never had a cousin before," Bethany said. "Not one who came to visit, at any rate. It's wonderful to meet you."

Dinner was a cheerful affair, and delicious: chicken and dumplings in gravy, fresh bread and preserves, and vegetables from the garden. Leandra and Bethany spoke of their life in Lothering, and Solona told the story of how she'd come to leave the Circle Tower, and soon all the food was gone, and port was served all around as they settled in for an evening of conversation.

"So," Leandra asked, "You'll be leaving in the morning for Ostagar?"

"Yes," Duncan replied. "I hope to make it to the city four days from now."

Leandra turned to Solona. "Once you arrive, you'll have to find Carver and Jo. I know they'll want to meet you."

"Yes, I'll definitely do that. I want very much to meet them, as well."

"Are they members of the Lothering Regulars?" Rhianna asked.

"No," Leandra replied. "Carver's talked about joining the regular army from time to time, but he and Jo are volunteers at the moment. I expect he might decide to become a career soldier after this. Not Jo, though. I'm sure her interests lie elsewhere."

Solona turned to Bethany. "Why didn't you go with them?"

"Me?" The young woman's forehead creased. "Oh, well, I don't have any skill with a sword, so I . . . I wouldn't be of much use in the fighting. Besides, I didn't like the thought of Mother being here all on her own."

Something about Bethany's answer, her hesitation, sparked Rhianna's curiosity. Was there some other reason she wasn't saying?

"And glad I am of it," Leandra added. "I'd have been nervous here on my own. There are so many refugees in town now, and only a few soldiers left behind after Bann Ceorlic marched south to join the King."

"Have there been many problems?" Rhianna asked.

"Nothing too serious," Leandra replied. "Vegetables stolen out of the garden overnight, and I can't hang clothes out to dry without them disappearing. Not that I blame people for taking things. They've left their homes with nothing more than what they can carry on their backs, and nothing can be had at decent prices. Profiteers showed up just behind the first wave of refugees, and it's become almost impossible to make ends meet, even for those of us who still have our homes."

"I've tried to convince her that we should go somewhere else, somewhere farther from the Wilds," Bethany said. "Oswin or Rainesfere, perhaps. Just until the war is over."

"I'm not leaving Lothering, Bethy," Leandra replied. "This is our home, and besides, do you want Carver and Jo to return and have no idea where we've gone?" Without waiting for an answer, Leandra turned to Duncan. "How long do you think it will take to defeat the darkspawn? We hear nothing but rumors, and I never know what's true."

"It's difficult to say for certain, but King Cailan has taken the threat seriously, and is gathering a sizable force of soldiers from across Ferelden."

"And with Loghain Mac Tir at the head of the army," Rhianna added, "we'll have the best possible chance of ending this quickly. There is no better strategist in all of Thedas. If anyone can lead the army to victory, it's Loghain."

"True," Duncan agreed. "And with the help of the Grey Wardens being sent from Orlais, I do believe we will be able to defeat the darkspawn and end this Blight in a reasonable amount of time."

"Grey Wardens are coming from Orlais?" Solona asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied. "I believe they intend to send two hundred Wardens, along with several legions of chevaliers."

"Chevaliers?" Leandra raised a brow.

"Of course." Duncan replied. "They are skilled warriors, some of the finest in Thedas."

"Be that as it may," the older woman replied, "that doesn't mean they'll be welcome here in Ferelden."

"That's exactly what I've tried to tell him," Rhianna said. The subject had come up earlier in their travels, and Rhianna had made the same argument. "We don't need chevaliers, and the people of Ferelden won't want them here." She turned to Duncan. "I can tell you without a doubt that Loghain will not agree to such a thing. Nor will my brother."

"Your brother?" Leandra asked. "Who is your brother?"

Oh, damn. It probably would have been better not to mention her family. But it was too late for that now.

"Fergus Cousland." Saying his name conjured an image of him in her mind, along with the familiar dread that accompanied any thought of him. Where was he now? Had he made it safely to Ostagar?

"You're . . . you're Rhianna Cousland?" Leandra's eyes grew wide. "And you're joining the Grey Wardens?" She paused. "I did hear a rumor that something had happened in Highever. That the teyrn and teyrna . . ." Her voice trailed off. "Oh, my dear." She moved to sit beside Rhianna, and took one of her hands. "I'm so sorry about what happened to your family."

"Thank you." Rhianna returned a gentle pressure on Leandra's hand, and breathed through the heat that had sprung up behind her eyes. "At any rate, my brother will be Teyrn of Highever as soon as the king learns what happened. And Fergus will not want chevaliers here." She glanced at Duncan. "Maric wouldn't have allowed it, either."

"You may be right about King Maric," Duncan shrugged. "He was supportive of the Grey Wardens, but ever distrustful of Orlais. Fortunately for us, his son is much more amenable to working with the Orlesians." He arched a brow. "I'm surprised, actually, that you're so averse to the idea, Rhianna. Wasn't your . . . friend in Orlais the son of a chevalier?"

Rhianna's lips tightened. That was an awkward question. She shouldn't be surprised that Duncan knew about Gauvain; he'd seen the kiss Rhianna and Gauvain had shared at the dock. Even so, it was uncomfortable. Leandra glanced at Rhianna, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully; no doubt, the woman had caught the tone of Duncan's question, and realized that this "friend" was really a lover.

Not that it mattered. Rhianna wasn't ashamed of any of it. "Yes." She lifted her chin. "Gauvain's father was a chevalier. One who died while attacking Ferelden, at the Battle of River Dane." Rhianna loved Gauvain, but that didn't mean she had any loyalty to his father, and of course, she'd never forgotten what Loghain had told her about the way his own mother had died. "If anything, that just goes to show why chevaliers shouldn't be allowed to return to Ferelden. As far as I know, we've never had any peaceful interactions with them."

"I agree," Leandra began. "The idea of chevaliers here makes me very uncomfortable. I didn't live in Ferelden during the Occupation, but we heard a great many stories about it in Kirkwall. Many of them first hand, from people who fled the country trying to avoid the things chevaliers were doing. From the sound of it, they're were even more difficult to control than the templars."

Bethany drew in a sharp breath. "Worse than templars? That sounds . . . ominous."

"The armies the king has assembled may not be sufficient to defeat the darkspawn." Duncan's voice was firm. "Chevaliers are needed if we are to stop this Blight before it truly gets started."

"I thought it was Grey Wardens who were crucial in fighting the darkspawn," Solona said. "Not chevaliers."

"They bring different skills to the battlefield," Duncan said. "And I worry that even with two hundred Wardens from Orlais, we won't have enough to successfully face this horde."

"How many Grey Wardens are already at Ostagar?" Bethany asked.

"Not including myself, there are twenty-two in Ferelden," Duncan replied, "and two recruits waiting for us to return, in addition to Solona and Rhianna."

"Only twenty-two? In all of Ferelden? Why are there so few?" Leandra asked.

A reasonable question. Rhianna had always thought it odd that Duncan had been able to recruit only two dozen in nearly as many years.

"The Wardens were expelled from Ferelden two centuries ago," Duncan replied, "and were only allowed back in your country by King Maric in the last twenty years," Duncan replied. "Since then, it's not been easy to recruit people into the order. They remember the stories about Sophia Dryden, and her attempted coup against King Arland."

"Even so, many people still consider the Wardens heroes," Rhianna said. "Ser Gilmore - one of the knights in Highever - was quite keen to join. Surely, there must be others like him."

"True enough," Duncan relaxed back on the sofa, "but not all those who wish to join have what it takes to become members of the order." He regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes, and she sensed that he had come to the end of his willingness to talk about Grey Warden business.

She knew better than to press him, even though this talk of allowing chevaliers into Ferelden still made her deeply uncomfortable. If they were allowed to cross the borders, what guarantee would there be that they would leave again after the Blight? She would wait, though, and see if she could get a better answer out of him some other time.

"I suppose I don't remember there being many Grey Wardens in Kirkwall, either, now that you mention it," Leandra said. "It sounds as though there are more of them in Orlais than anywhere else?"

"Orlais, and the Anderfels, have the greatest number," Duncan confirmed. "But there are Wardens in most other nations as well. In the Free Marches, their stronghold is in Ansburg, so they don't have a particularly large presence in Kirkwall."

Solona leaned forward. "You seem to know a lot about Orlais, Duncan. Is that where you were born?"

"No. I was raised in Orlais, but as a matter of fact, I was born here in Ferelden. In Highever, actually."

"Highever?" Rhianna was surprised he'd never mentioned that before.

"Yes, although I don't remember much about those early years. We moved to Val Royeaux when I was very young."

"And have you been to many other places, too? Traveling with the Grey Wardens," Solona asked.

"I suppose I have," he agreed. "I've been to Orzammar, and Nevarra, and Antiva. The farthest I've gone is to Weisshaupt, the Grey Warden fortress in the Anderfels."

Bethany's eyes grew wide. "The Anderfels? That's a long way away, on the edge of Tevinter."

"Yes, but I've never been in Tevinter itself."

"Will you tell us more about the Grey Warden fortress?" Solona sounded like a little girl asking for a treat, much as Rhianna had once asked Loghain for stories. That thought brought with it an ache in her chest.

"Yes," Bethany seconded. "I'd be interested to hear more about that, as well. The whole idea of it sounds so . . . mysterious."

Duncan lifted a brow. "You want to hear about Weisshaupt?"

"Yes, please," Solona replied.

"All right." He chuckled. "It's an ancient fortress high up in the Anderfel Mountains, where the Grey Wardens were formed during the First Blight, and to this day it remains the headquarters for the order. There are at least a thousand Grey Wardens living there, including the First Warden. I traveled there only one time - it is high in the mountains, and the Anderfels are notoriously rugged and cold, even during the summer, so reaching the fortress is no easy task."

"Why live there, then?" Solona wondered aloud. "Why not move somewhere more accessible?"

"Historically, because those mountains, and the Hunterhorns nearby, are the only places where griffons could breed, and the Wardens used them as mounts. Sadly, griffons became extinct some time after the Fourth Blight, but I don't think the Wardens will ever abandon Weisshaupt. There's a rich history there worth preserving."

"Why did griffons become extinct?" Bethany asked.

"Darkspawn killed a great many of them during the Blight; they were targeted deliberately, because they were so effective at flying overhead and attacking from above. After the Blight, there weren't enough of the creatures left to rebuild their population, and they died out."

"Are they sure all the griffons are gone?" Solona asked, echoing Rhianna's own thought on the matter. "That would be such a shame. It would be marvelous to see one."

"There are rumors, from time to time," Duncan replied, "of griffons being sighted. None that has ever been verified, though, and Wardens have searched those mountains for centuries, and never found any sign that they survived."

Rhianna remembered the map Loghain had given her, with its little griffon drawn near the mountains, and how she'd joked that someday she would go searching for griffons. Of course, she'd intended to go on that adventure with Loghain. One of so many adventures she'd believed they would have together.

"Rhianna?" Leandra reached over and rested a hand on Rhianna's leg. "Is something wrong?"

Rhianna blinked. She must have allowed something of her grim thoughts to show on her face. She forced a smile. "No. No, of course not. Nothing's wrong. It's just sad to think the griffons are all gone. And, I'll admit that when I was younger, I had an idea to go looking for them in those mountains, someday. It was a childish fantasy, though."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying childhood fancies," the older woman said. "Although sometimes they do come crashing down when the realities of life set in."

Solona turned to Leandra. "What about you, Cousin?" she asked. "Have you been many places?"

"When I was young, I traveled with my family a bit. Throughout most of the Free Marches, and Nevarra, as well. And I was to Antiva once, when I was just a bit younger than Bethany is now." She chuckled. "It was terrifying. I spent the whole time worrying about assassins, although the food was delightful."

Rhianna couldn't help but smile; Leandra's account of Antiva was so similar to what Loghain had said about the place . . . somewhere else Loghain had promised to take her, someday. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, this was fairly insignificant, considering the other promises he'd made and broken. Like the promise to take her to Gwaren. Her smile faded, and the ache grew stronger. Her vision blurred, but she willed away the tears. No. She would not allow herself to cry. She had not allowed herself any tears, not since Highever, and she wasn't about to start now, and ruin everyone else's evening.

To distract herself from thoughts of Loghain, she asked Leandra, "Have you been to Starkhaven? I was there once, several years ago."

"Yes," Leandra replied. "I was to Starkhaven many times. My family was friendly with the Vaels." Oh, that's right. Solona had mentioned something about an uncle of hers being passed over as Viscount; the Amells must have been noblity at one time.

"I met the Vaels, once," Rhianna mused. "The youngest son, Sebastian, made quite an impression on me. He was rather . . . scandalous, to be honest."

"Scandalous?" Solona asked. "In what way?"

"He was . . . well, I came upon him in the palace garden, during a party my mother and I had attended. He was kissing some people. Two other people. At the same time. And then he invited me to join them. Of course, I refused."

"I don't find that surprising at all," Leandra chuckled. "From what I remember, his father, Magnus, was wild in his youth, as well. Although he was more careful to keep quiet about it. I doubt he'd have been caught in the palace garden during one of _his_ father's parties. Sebastian is a younger son, is he not?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "He's the youngest of four children, if I remember correctly."

"If he hasn't grown out of such things by now, he's likely to end up being forced to take Chantry vows. That's happened more than once in the history of the Vael family, from what I can recall."

Solona relaxed back into the sofa, with a wistful sigh. "I think it's so exciting that you've all seen so many places. I hope someday I'll be able to travel outside of Ferelden. Although I suppose there's still a lot of Ferelden itself for me to see before that happens."

"I wish I_ hadn't_ seen quite so many places," Bethany lamented. "I mean, I suppose traveling for pleasure would be all right, but having to leave home in a hurry and never come back isn't much fun."

"That's true," Leandra agreed. "But we've had good luck here in Lothering. Ten years now with no real troubles."

No troubles. Clearly, they were still worried about being found by the templars, though.

Except . . . that didn't make much sense. Malcolm died three years ago. So what did they have to fear from the templars? Unless . . .

Maker's breath.

Rhianna glanced at Bethany. Was she a mage, like her father had been? That would explain why they were still so wary.

Best not to ask about it, though. Not here, in front of Duncan. He wanted more mages for the Grey Wardens; what if he decided to recruit Bethany, even against her will? Rhianna would ask later, in private, if the opportunity arose.

"That's true," Bethany replied. "But now, with the darkspawn in the south . . ." The young woman bit her bottom lip. "I just have the feeling we won't be able to stay here much longer. I know you don't want to leave, Mother, but what if we have to?"

"We'll cross that bridge _if_ we come to it," Leandra replied.

‹›‹O›‹›

The evening passed quickly, and all too soon, Rhianna, Solona and Bethany retired to the room Bethany and Josefina shared, where the three girls and Dane would spend the night. It was a cozy room, small but comfortable, and Rhianna and Solona shared Josefina's bed, while Dane curled up on the rug in front of the door.

Rhianna glanced around, intrigued by some of the things she saw on a slightly cluttered desk in the corner.

"Oh," Bethany said, when she noticed where Rhianna was looking, "don't mind the mess. That's Jo's desk. She's always studying some new thing or another." On the desk was a pair of beautiful candlesticks made from carved ram's horns, with silverwork that had scrolled designs that looked Nevarran, to Rhianna's eye. There was also an ornate iron pen, and a series of small carved stones lined up along the edge of the desk, with what looked like carving tools placed neatly alongside.

"Your sister carves runes?" Solona asked.

"Yes. Our father taught her how. Well, he taught us both, but Jo is much better at it than I am. Her carvings always turn out so beautifully."

Rune carving? "What are they for?"

"It's a form of magic, actually," Solona answered. "And if I'm not mistaken, those are Tevinter symbols?"

"Yes," Bethany confirmed. "I'm not sure where our father learned them; he never visited Tevinter, as far as I know, but he always said they were the most powerful of the runes he had been taught. And yes, they're a way of performing very simple magic - protective spells, and the like."

Magic?

"Is Jo a mage?"

"No, she isn't," Bethany replied. "You don't have to be a mage to craft runes."

As the three women got ready for bed, Rhianna slipped into her nightgown, pleased to have the chance to wear it, since she slept in her clothes when they camped outdoors.

Even though Duncan had made it clear he intended to leave very early the next morning, it was obvious none of the three young women were particularly interested in going right to sleep. So once the candles had been put out and they'd climbed into their respective beds, they all lay on their stomachs and faced one another, to talk a while longer.

Solona turned to Rhianna and whispered, "Now that we're alone, there's something I want to ask. You mentioned a man in Orlais? Or rather, Duncan mentioned him. What's his name? Is he your beau?"

"Yes," Bethany nodded. "I wondered the same thing. Tell us about him?"

"You really want to hear about that?" Their eager smiles showed that yes, they definitely wanted to hear. "All right," Rhianna agreed, as her cheeks grew warm. "Yes, there's a man in Orlais, and his name is Gauvain. But he isn't my beau. Not anymore. He was, but . . . well, it just wasn't possible for us to stay together."

"What?" Bethany frowned. "Why not?"

"Because he's Orlesian." That really was the easiest explanation. "There's more to it than that, of course, but that's what it boils down to. He's the empress' cousin, and there were political reasons why it would have been a bad idea for me to stay there with him."

"Were you in love with him?" Solona asked.

"Yes." Rhianna bit her bottom lip. "Yes. I was. I suppose I still am, to be honest."

"Will you go back to Orlais someday?" Bethany asked, "To see him again?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I'd love to see him again. I'd love to . . . be with him, again. But he lives there, and I live here. And I'm going to be a Grey Warden." Her brow creased. "Even if I might have found a way to make it work between us, any plans I once had for the future are all . . . different now."

"Oh." Solona wrinkled her nose. "I hadn't thought of it like that, what being a Grey Warden will mean. Not that it matters to me. Life in the Circle wasn't . . . horrible, but I always felt sort of trapped. Like there was so much out in the world I wanted to see. So for me, this is probably the best thing that could have happened. I didn't lose anything. But you . . . you're just the opposite, aren't you? You lost . . . everything."

Before Rhianna could think of a response, Bethany turned to Solona. "You weren't happy living in the Circle?"

"Not really. I mean, it's not that I was unhappy, exactly. Most of the time, it was all right. Except when it wasn't." Solona shrugged her shoulders. "I am glad to be away from there, though."

Bethany didn't say anything; she merely nodded, but it was clear the woman had more than a passing interest in Solona's experiences at the Circle.

"Bethany," Rhianna began. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you . . . well, you're a mage aren't you? I hope it's not rude to come out and ask like that, but . . . well, I wondered about it earlier. Otherwise, why would your mother be so worried about templars, now that your father is gone?"

"Oh." Bethany made an amused sound in her throat. "I spend so much time being careful when I'm out in the world, I suppose I'm not always the best at hiding things when I'm here at home. But I don't mind the question. And yes, I am a mage."

"I'd guessed as much, too," Solona said, "but I didn't want to ask, just in case you didn't want all of us to know."

"I appreciate that. I don't mind the two of you knowing. I'm not so sure about Duncan, though. He seemed a bit, well, I don't know." She turned Rhianna. "The way he brought up your friend in Orlais was rather . . . abrupt. So I'm glad it didn't come up during dinner, especially since that's the real reason I didn't go with Carver and Jo to Ostagar."

Solana frowned. "But I don't understand - why wouldn't you go to Ostagar? The king wants more mages to help fight the darkspawn."

"I don't think the king wants mages like me. Apostates? What would happen the first time a templar saw me doing magic? I can't risk something like that, not after everything my family has gone through to keep me safe, and out of the Circle." She bit at her bottom lip. "Although sometimes I wonder if they wouldn't have been better off if I'd gone to the Circle after Father died."

Solona's eyes grew wide. "Don't say that. The Circle . . . it's not a good place. It really isn't." Rhianna glanced at Solona. There was something in her voice, an intensity that hadn't been there before. As though now she were free of it, the idea of going back scared her.

Had bad things happened to her there? More than just the sorts of things Rhianna had seen: the lack of privacy, the templars watching all the time, the threat of being made Tranquil. What was it she'd said? That most of the time it was all right, except when it wasn't. What did that mean?

"Perhaps not," Bethany replied, "but it's . . . well it's a lot of work to keep from being noticed by the templars. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to turn myself in."

"Please don't do that," Solona said, her voice earnest. "Please. Don't."

Bethany didn't respond, other than to nod her head slowly.

"How did you manage that, anyway? Staying away from the templars, I mean," Rhianna asked. "I saw several of them today, in the few hours I walked around town."

"It's just something I've always done. From the time that my magic began to appear, Father made certain I knew how to keep myself hidden. Hardly anyone in town knows the truth about me, and I'm careful never to use magic where anyone can see. I go to Chantry services as often as possible, too. People aren't as suspicious when they see you going to services regularly. I don't mind, though. One of the lay sisters there is a friend. She hasn't been in Lothering all that long; she's not even from Ferelden originally, but from Orlais."

"Orlais?" Rhianna arched a brow. "She wouldn't happen to be young with red hair, would she?"

"Yes," Bethany replied, "that's Leliana. Do you know her?"

"Not really, but I did meet her this afternoon. Well, sort of. I went to the Chantry to light some candles, and she approached me and we talked for a few minutes."

"Isn't she lovely?" Bethany asked. "Leliana has been such a good friend to me, and she tells the most wonderful stories."

"Does she know that you are a mage?" Solona asked.

Bethany hesitated. "No, I haven't told her that. No matter how kind she is, she's still a Chantry sister, and would have a duty to tell the templars about me."

How sad. Bethany called this woman her friend, and yet she wasn't able to be truly honest with her. And if that was the way she had to be with almost everyone she knew? What a lonely life she must lead.

"So," Bethany turned to Solona, "did you have a beau, in the Circle?"

"Me?" Solona's eyes grew wide. "No, not really. I mean, there was someone I liked, but nothing ever happened between us."

Rhianna leaned closer. "Was it . . . what was his name? Jowan? The man who got you into all this trouble . . . the one who destroyed his phylactery?"

"Jowan?" Solona laughed. "No, it's not Jowan. He and I are just friends. As it turned out, he was involved with someone. Someone he shouldn't have been involved with. A lay sister of the Chantry."

"The one who got taken away to prison?"

"Yes."

"Maker's breath," Bethany said, her eyes wide. "People escaping, and having affairs with lay sisters! Is life in the Circle always this exciting?"

"Hardly," Solona laughed. "Most of the time, we just tried to be as quiet as possible, so the templars wouldn't notice us."

"Well," Bethany said, "then tell us about the man you liked. You said nothing ever happened? Why not?"

"Oh." Solona shrugged. "Mages and templars aren't supposed to . . . do things like that, if you know what I mean. In spite of what some of the templars seem to think. But this man, he's . . . honorable, like that. I don't think he would do something that went against the rules."

"Ah," Rhianna said, "the fellow you fancied is a templar?"

"Yes. He's called Cullen."

"Cullen? Blonde hair and stutters a lot?"

"Yes, Solona laughed. "Well, I don't think he usually stutters. Only when he's nervous. But yes, that's him. Did you meet him?"

"Oh, I met him." Rhianna decided to skip the part where he'd walked in during her bath. "He took me to the top of the tower, so I could see the view from the roof."

"He's so handsome. Didn't you think he was handsome? It was a bit awkward, though, when he was the templar standing by during my Harrowing. If I'd become an abomination, he's the one who would have had to kill me." She sighed. "I suppose I should forget about him now, though. He's at the Circle, and I'm not supposed to ever go back, am I?"

"Well," Rhianna replied, "I don't think you're banished from the Circle, or anything like that. But, I don't expect you'd have reason to go there very often."

"Exactly. So probably, I'll never even see him again. That's all right, though. Like I said, I don't think he ever would've agreed for something to happen between us." Solona turned to Bethany. "What about you? Do you have someone special here in town?"

"Me? No. There isn't anyone here in Lothering. Or anywhere else. It's hard to meet people."

"Because you're a mage?" Solona asked.

"No, that's not the trouble. I mean, that won't make things any easier, but really it's having a twin brother and an overprotective older sister. I never get to go anywhere without at least one of them tagging along, and they are always suspicious of anyone who tries to talk to me."

"My brother was a bit like that," Rhianna agreed, "although in my case it didn't really matter. I was never interested in any of the fellows he ran off. I had my eye on someone for a very long time, and Fergus never suspected."

"Your man in Orlais?" Solona asked.

"No, not him. This was before I met Gauvain. There was someone else, someone I thought I was going to marry." She sighed. "But that didn't work out either." The ache in her chest returned. If only she could stop thinking about Loghain, but it seemed that even the most random things reminded her of him, continually.

Solona leaned closer. "Can I ask something else? Something really personal?"

"Of course."

"Were you," Solona whispered, "um, did you . . . well, you know. Were you ever . . . intimate with either of them?"

"Intimate? Oh, you mean . . . " Rhianna's cheeks grew warm. "Oh." She paused. "Actually, yes, I was. With both of them. Not at the same time," she hurried to add. "But yes. I was."

"Maker's breath," Bethany grinned. "What's it like?"

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? She'd never had this sort of conversation before. She'd never had any friends her own age with whom she could talk about things like this. There were only a few times she'd talked to Delilah, and really no one else. Being teased by Habren and her friends certainly didn't count.

It felt good, though, to sit and talk like this. It was comfortable and pleasant, and gave her a warm feeling inside.

"What's it like?" Rhianna began. "It's . . . nice. Well, more than nice. Really, it feels better than just about anything. Partly because it just feels . . . good. Physically, I mean. But it's also nice to be that close to someone you care about, if that makes sense."

"It feels good?" Solona sounded skeptical. "The actual . . . doing it, I mean?"

"It does. It really does."

Solona rolled over on her back, and glanced at the bedroom door. "_He's_ very handsome, don't you think?"

Rhianna was confused. "Who's handsome?"

"Duncan, of course."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose he's handsome."

"Duncan," Bethany added, "is definitely handsome. He scares me, though; he looks like a pirate, or something." She glanced at Rhianna. "And I didn't like the way he talked about the man you knew in Orlais. Like he was trying to embarrass you just to make a point." She paused. "But he is handsome."

"Wait a minute." Rhianna turned to Solona. "Are you . . ." Her voice trailed off. It was hardly appropriate to come out and ask the question that had popped into her head: if Solona wanted to lay with Duncan.

"Am I what?"

"Are you thinking about Duncan . . . _that_ way?"

Bethany grinned. "You are, aren't you?"

Solona rolled back onto her stomach, and a crooked smile stole across her face. "Maybe I am." The smile slipped away. "Do you think I shouldn't? I bet you're both going to say he's too old for me."

"Too old?" Rhianna had to stop herself from laughing out loud. "Hardly. The man I wanted to marry was almost as old as my father. Older than Duncan, anyway."

Solona's grin returned. "What do you think he would do? If I . . . well, honestly, I don't even know how to go about something like that. What do you say when you like someone? When you want to . . . know them better?"

"I'm not sure I'm the best one to give you advice about this," Rhianna admitted. "I never had to _do_ anything. With Loghain, well, we'd been friends for ages, and when I grew up it just sort of happened. And Gauvain flirted with me shamelessly from the moment we met, because his cousin wanted him to marry me. Either way, I never had to do anything."

"Just talk to him," Bethany suggested. "Not about _that_, but just about regular things, at first. You're traveling together, right? So just sit up with him some night when he's on watch, and the two of you are the only ones awake. And then . . . smile a lot? That seems to work with the boys around here, from what I've seen."

"Smile a lot? I can do that. I have a nice smile, don't you think?"

"You have a beautiful smile," Rhianna said, truthfully. "And if you like him, I agree with Bethany. You should talk to him, some night after I've gone to sleep."

"I think I will. He's a nice man, really."

Rhianna blinked in surprise; "nice" was not a word she would ever use to describe Duncan. Then again, almost no one agreed with her good opinion of Loghain, so who was she to judge?

"I think I'll try and talk to him tomorrow," Solona continued.

Bethany covered her mouth, and yawned. "Oh. I'm sorry to be such a stick in the mud, but I think I need to go to sleep."

"Me, too," Rhianna said. She was sleepy, even though somewhat reluctant for this evening to end. She'd enjoyed herself, especially this conversation with Solona and Bethany. It was nice to have people her own age to talk to.

Solona giggled. "You're both right, of course, although I really don't want to go to sleep yet. This is so much fun. It won't be fun when Duncan wakes us up at dawn, though."

"That's for sure," Rhianna agreed. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night, Rhianna. And Bethany."

"Good night."

As she settled herself under the blankets, Rhianna smiled. Solona and Duncan? She would never have thought of such a thing on her own, but clearly, Solona liked him. Maybe Duncan would like her, too, and hopefully there wasn't some horrible Grey Warden rule against them being together.

It would be a shame if there was a rule like that . . .

‹O›

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Many, many thanks to my fabulous beta readers Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to my lovely reviewers: Skidney, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Tyrannosaurustex, and Arsinoe de Blassenville.

Next stop: OSTAGAR! :D

‹›‹O›‹›


	10. A royal welcome

_**30 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Ostagar**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

The sun was blessedly warm overhead, soothing away the bite of the cold wind that blew down from the Hinterlands. Duncan had said they should expect to reach Ostagar sometime after noon, and sure enough, it loomed ahead in the distance now. Duncan and Solona walked ahead and talked amiably, while Rhianna hung back. For some reason, their pleasant banter was grating on her nerves today, but she didn't want to let them know that. It wasn't anything they were doing wrong; just her own foul mood.

The closer they got to Ostagar, the more anxious she felt.

She ought to be relieved that this long journey was nearly at an end. Never could she have imagined walking from one end of Ferelden to the other, but that's exactly what the three of them had done. Walking was tedious, especially for weeks on end, and she missed Faolan not just for his cheerful presence, but for the extra speed he would have given her. So, the fact that tonight she would sleep in camp, in an actual tent, and would not be required to walk for ten hours the following day, should have made her happy.

It didn't, though. Instead, she found herself on edge.

At least the reason why wasn't a mystery. She knew perfect well why she felt this way.

Loghain was here. Every step that brought her closer to him - closer to the time when she would speak with him, would look into his face, would hear the beloved timbre of his voice - the more anxiety bloomed in her chest.

What would he say to her? Would he smile? Would he touch her, and pull her into an embrace? Or would he stand stiff and awkward, and make it clear he wanted no physical contact? What if he refused to speak with her? Wanted nothing to do with her, period? He had broken off contact with her completely, after all.

She still didn't understand what she had done to drive him away. He'd cared for her once, she felt certain of it. Then, for some reason, he'd stopped caring. And that thought caused an ache in her chest.

Regardless of his reasons, it would be smarter just to stay away.

Except she couldn't stay away. She couldn't. She knew in her heart she would seek him out, even knowing he might reject her, and knowing how much that would hurt.

Because what if he hadn't stopped? What if there was some other reason for his silence? Something he hadn't intended, and couldn't control? Something that had kept him from writing, or from coming for her.

Perhaps he hadn't truly meant what he'd written in that last letter: "_I have to let you go, so you will be free to find a life that can make you truly happy." _Or perhaps by now he realized he'd made a mistake. And when he saw her face, he would admit it. He would admit that he did still love her.

That was why she would seek him out. If there was even the smallest chance that he would tell her he loved her, she needed to hear it.

Even if that chance was very small, indeed.

She tried to think of other things, but every time she let her mind wander freely, it found its way back to Highever, and there was no happiness for her there. So, tired of the thoughts bombarding her mind, she sped up to walk beside Duncan and Solona.

"Do you think Wardens will come from other places," Solona was asking, "or just from Orlais?"

"I've written to the Warden Commanders in Kirkwall, Starkhaven, Nevarra and Antiva. And, of course, to the First Warden in Weisshaupt. So, yes, with any luck, we'll have more Wardens here soon. My understanding is that the Orlesian Wardens will be here within the month. Yes. They'll enter the country through Gherlen's Pass – which, as you probably know, is not at all far from Kinloch Hold - and make their way south. Once they arrive, we'll have the best possible chance to stop the darkspawn before they can spread to the north."

"The king gave his permission for them to enter Ferelden?" Rhianna tried to keep her voice casual, but suspected that Duncan could hear the tension. After all, he was well aware of her opinion on this matter. "Even the chevaliers?"

"Yes." Duncan looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Lucky for us, Cailan does not share the prejudice held by much of Ferelden's nobility."

His tone was abrupt, as though he wished to stave off an argument, but Rhianna wasn't willing to be put off easily this time. "Can you guarantee that after the darkspawn have been beaten, the chevaliers will return to Orlais without any fuss?" Rhianna caught and held his gaze. "It wouldn't surprise me to discover that Empress Celene intends to use this as a way of gaining a foothold in Ferelden."

"I am not aware of Empress Celene having any intention of trying to reoccupy your country." As if she would admit such a thing, openly, if it were what she intended. Besides, that wasn't an answer to Rhianna's question.

"Can you guarantee that the chevaliers will leave again, peacefully, after the Blight is over?"

Duncan pursed his lips into a frown. "Politics are not my concern," he replied. "Nor are they your concern any longer."

"But-"

"I understand," he continued, "that as the daughter of a teyrn you grew up involving yourself in such things, but the Grey Wardens do not. We remain neutral, except when it comes to killing darkspawn. I suggest you remember this. Do not think to meddle in political affairs."

Maker.

Duncan intended to allow chevaliers in without any thought about whether or not they would leave again. He honestly didn't care if Celene used the Blight as an excuse to invade Ferelden.

Or what if Loghain was right, and the Grey Wardens were wrapped up with Orlais? Could Duncan be pretending not to care, while acting in accordance with Celene's wishes?

A weight settled in Rhianna's stomach at the thought.

"Perhaps the chevaliers really will just fight the darkspawn and leave again?" Solona's voice was higher pitched than usual, as though she wanted to end the discussion. Solona didn't seem to have much of an opinion about politics, but Rhianna could hardly blame her. It's not as though she had any reason to consider herself Fereldan. The Circle had been her home, and it was a thing completely apart from the rest of society.

"Perhaps," Rhianna replied, although she didn't really believe it.

They approached a crossroad, where the road through the Hinterlands from Redcliffe joined with the Imperial Highway on which they traveled. There had been almost no traffic on the road; just about anyone who lived this far south had fled weeks earlier, as the darkspawn pressed north. As the two roads met, however, a pair of travelers on foot were reaching the fork in the road at the same time as Rhianna and her companions.

Duncan raised his arm, and hailed the others in a hearty voice.

"Roland! What a stroke of luck to meet you here!"

Roland was of medium height, with tanned skin and dark hair peppered with grey. "It is indeed!"

The two men grasped forearms in greeting. "Roland," Duncan explained, "is a fellow Grey Warden, on his way back to Ostagar after visiting Redcliffe and the West Hills."

"Well met." Roland gestured to the man at his side. "And this is Arcill. He'll be joining the Wardens once we arrive in the city."

Arcill was a huge man - tall and broad chested, with long blonde hair that hung loose past his shoulders. His bare, muscular arms were as big around as Rhianna's thighs, and were crisscrossed with burn scars that suggested blacksmithing was his trade. He gave Rhianna a friendly smile when their eyes met, but his skin looked unhealthy – it was an unnatural grey sort of color - and his shoulders drooped as though he were exhausted.

"Arcill is from Falconhold," Roland continued. "I met up with him while traveling. He and some members of his clan had an encounter with darkspawn down near Sothmere."

"Welcome, Arcill." Duncan's tone was subdued, as though he weren't particularly happy to meet this man. But why? Arcill looked like a promising recruit.

The two parties joined together, and as they continued toward Ostagar, Roland fell into step with Duncan and Solona, while Rhianna, Arcill and Dane brought up the rear.

Falconhold, if she remembered correctly, was an Avvarian settlement. Arcill certainly looked the part, with a great axe strapped to his back, and his metal armor trimmed with leather and fur.

"Where is Falconhold located?" Rhianna asked. "Is it in the Hinterlands?"

"No. It's in far south of the Frostbacks. It is not a large hold, but we have everything we need." Rhianna remembered stories of Avvarian raiders, coming down from the mountains to steal horses and, occasionally, brides. Probably best not to mention that, though. "And where are you from, my lady?"

"I'm from Highever. In the north, on the Waking Sea."

"And you've come all this way to join the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes." That wasn't much of an answer, when surely he wondered how she had come to this point in her life, but at the moment, she didn't have the energy to explain. "So," she began, "why did you decide to join?" Assuming he had decided, and not been conscripted.

"We - me and three others from my clan - were hunting elk in the lowlands when we were attacked by darkspawn. I'm the only one who survived, except, apparently I got too close to the creatures, and fell sick. Roland tells me the Grey Wardens have a cure. So here I am."

Oh. That explained the color of his skin. He had blight sickness. Perhaps that also explained Duncan's subdued tone. Almost certainly, the joining ritual was the "cure" the Wardens had to offer, but that was hardly a guarantee, considering the ritual itself might well kill him.

"I'm sorry about your friends. We'll be at Ostagar soon, though."

"Yes, I'll welcome a chance to stop traveling. We've been on the road for more than a week."

"So have we. We've made stops along the way, but I could never have imagined what a long walk it is all the way across Ferelden. But tonight, we'll have cots to sleep on, in proper tents. Or so I've been told."

He chuckled, weakly. "That's something to look forward to, indeed."

‹›‹O›‹›

It was said that Ostagar had once been a place of magical experimentation, built by the Tevinter Imperium to mark the very southern reach of their empire. Certainly, Rhianna had seen other things built by the Tevinters - Fort Drakon, and the Imperial Highway itself - but even so, she was not prepared for Ostagar.

Far from the modest collection of collapsed walls and derelict buildings Rhianna had expected, Ostagar was a sprawling, multi-storied hulk, its archways and round courtyards connected by wide paved roads and bridges. The city was enormous, and even in ruins it was magnificent, with domed buildings, and a huge tower that loomed overhead.

As they approached, Rhianna could see the tents where bulk of the king's army had spilled out onto the gently rolling hills that surrounded the ancient city. It was an odd juxtaposition: the ancient ruin brought to life by thousands of soldiers and the community they brought along with them.

As the two Wardens and their recruits approached the final bridge that would take them into the oldest part of the city, they came upon a small group of well-armed men. Amazingly, one of them was Cailan.

"Ho there, Duncan!" The king's voice was cheerful, and he smiled broadly, as though he'd been anticipating this event.

Duncan strode forward to greet the king. "King Cailan! I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" Cailan laughed, and reached out to grasp Duncan's arm in a firm handshake. "I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." Duncan lifted a brow, but the king didn't seem to notice.

"You've got excellent timing, as I intend for us to throw everything we've got at the darkspawn, and end this once and for all in just a few days' time. And now, I'll have the mighty Duncan, and his Grey Wardens, at my side in battle. Glorious! And I see you've brought companions. Warden recruit-" His eyes fell on Rhianna, and he stopped speaking mid-sentence.

"Rhianna?" His brow creased. "Is it really you?"

"Hello, Cailan."

"Maker's breath!" He stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around her. She hesitated only a moment before returning the embrace and relaxing into his warmth. It felt good to be close to another person, even if it was someone she barely liked.

When Cailan pulled away, he grasped her shoulders.

"It's wonderful to see you, Rhianna." He reached up, and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. "I didn't recognize you at first; you've cut your hair."

"It's good to see you, too," she replied. "And yes, I cut it a few weeks ago. It was too much trouble to try and take care of it while traveling."

His brow creased. "But, I thought you were staying behind in Highever? That's what your brother told me when he arrived a few days ago, with the Highever men. He said your father would be coming, while you stayed behind to manage the teyrnir."

"That was the original plan, yes. But . . . my father won't be coming after all."

"What?" Cailan frowned. "Why not? I hope he hasn't fallen ill."

"He's not ill. My father . . . my father is dead."

"Dead?" Cailan's jaw went slack. "What are you talking about? How is that possible? I just spoke with Fergus two days ago. What in the world happened?"

"Rendon Howe ordered his men to attack the castle in the middle of the night, after Fergus and the army marched south. Father was killed, and Mother, and Fergus' wife and son, along with a lot of other people."

Cailan grasped Rhianna's shoulders more firmly. "Maker. I am so very sorry, Rhianna. I . . . I can scarcely believe it. Rendon Howe? But he and your father have been friends for years. I don't understand why in the world he would do such a thing."

"I don't understand it either."

"Well, he won't get away with such treachery." Cailan stared into Rhianna's eyes. "As soon as the darkspawn have been defeated, I'll turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word. Rendon Howe will hang. I know that won't bring your family back, but I swear to you, Howe will not profit from this. Your lands will be restored to you and your brother."

"Thank you." She managed a weak smile. "You spoke with Fergus two days ago?"

"Yes, right after he arrived."

"Good. I was worried that . . . well, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that he's safe. And that I can talk to him, tell him what happened."

Cailan frowned. "I've no doubt you'll want to see him as soon as possible, but I'm afraid that's not going to be easy."

"What? Why not?"

"Fergus and his men left camp yesterday, to scout in the Wilds. They're not expected back for the better part of a week."

"He's in the Wilds?" Yes, that sounded like something Fergus would offer to do - he was an outdoorsman, after all, in a way few Fereldan nobles were. "But I need to talk to him. He may still be in danger from Rendon Howe's assassins."

"I understand." Cailan looked regretful. "But there's nothing to be done until he returns from the scouting mission. Until then we cannot even send word."

"That's . . . disappointing," she said, although to be honest, the disappointment was tempered with relief. As much as she yearned to see her brother, she also dreaded having to tell him what had happened: that his wife and son were dead.

"Oh, Rhianna." Cailan shook his head and let out a ragged breath. "I can only imagine what this must be like." He reached up and ran his thumb along the edge of her cheek. "He'll be back in just a few days, though. And in the meantime, you can vent your grief against the darkspawn." He pulled her into his arms again, and murmured into her ear. "Howe will pay for this, I promise."

When he pulled away, she gave him the warmest smile she could muster. Talking about her family had drained her of all good feelings, but she appreciated his concern. "Thank you."

He arched a brow. "Wait a minute. You're here with Duncan. Does this mean . . . are you joining the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. I am."

His nose wrinkled. "That's unexpected," he said slowly. Then, his brow lifted. "I suppose this means . . ." His voice trailed off, but she could guess what he was thinking.

Even though she found it difficult to believe Cailan still wanted to marry her, the issue had never been fully resolved. Perhaps he'd still had some hope of marrying her, if his plan to wed Celene was struck down by the Landsmeet. But for to join the Grey Wardens would surely would make that impossible, for once and for all.

"I suppose it does."

He nodded. "I understand." He gave her a warm smile. "You'll be brilliant in the Grey Wardens, Rhianna, I know it. And if this is what you want, I'm . . . happy for you."

It wasn't what she wanted, not at all, but she could hardly admit that now. So, she merely nodded, and left the smile plastered on her face.

He turned to face Solona and Arcill. "And these are the other recruits, I take it?" To Solona, "It appears that you hail from the Circle of Magi?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Solona's voice was soft, as though this made her nervous.

"This is Solona Amell," Duncan said. "Formerly of the Fereldan Circle."

"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar," Cailan said with a sweep of his arm. "I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?" He smiled, and Solona seemed to relax under the warmth of his gaze.

"I am only recently a full enchanter, your Majesty, but I promise I will do my best."

"And this is Arcill Ar Muire O Falconhold." Duncan gestured toward the Avvarian tribesman.

"Well met, ser!" Cailan crossed his arms at his chest, and bowed. "We don't see many of the Avvar here in the lowlands; I'm pleased that you will be joining us."

"Thank you." The man inclined his head, but only slightly, and did not smile. It seemed the warrior was not impressed with the Fereldan king.

Cailan seemed not to notice, as he turned to Roland. "And what of you, ser? Are you another recruit?"

"Roland is already a Grey Warden," Duncan explained. "He's just come from Redcliffe."

"Ah! Then you've spoken with Eamon?"

"I have," Roland replied. "Your uncle sends his greetings, and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week. You have only to send the word, and he'll muster his Regulars."

"Hah!" Cailan scoffed. "Eamon just wants in on the glory! I'll write to him soon, although I don't think we need his soldiers. We've won three battles against these monsters already, and the next one will be no different. I'm not even sure this is a true blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

Alas? Was he hoping for the archdemon, hoping this really was a blight?

Duncan frowned, and his words echoed Rhianna's thoughts. "Disappointed, your majesty?"

Cailan stared out into the distance. "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god." He turned, and caught Rhianna's gaze again. "But I suppose this will have to do."

There was a catch in his voice, and he sounded like a child. A very young child. Not a king at all.

If only Maric were here. He should be the one leading this campaign, at Loghain's side. They would have worked together, as they had done during the Rebellion, with no talk of wanting an archdemon, or Orlesian chevaliers. Maric would have been sensible; Cailan seemed to care only about glory and legend and fulfilling some childish fantasy of a war that bards would sing about a hundred years from now.

"We mustn't underestimate the darkspawn," Duncan warned. "Perhaps it would be best to call the Redcliffe troops to join us. We're still waiting for the Orlesian Wardens to arrive, after all, and having the additional men Eamon would bring can only be of benefit."

"I'll think about it," Cailan said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And now, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to camp. No doubt, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies." He stepped up to Rhianna, and took both of her hands in his. "It's wonderful to have you here, Rhianna. Please, make some time to come and see me, soon. For a visit."

"I will," she promised. As he turned and walked away, with his guards close behind, a trickle of fear ran down her spine.

_Loghain waits to bore me with his strategies._

Did Cailan really feel that way about Loghain's advice? Loghain Mac Tir was a great general, a legendary commander, yet Cailan was "bored" by Loghain's strategies? How in the world were they to win this war if the man who made the final decisions didn't even have the patience to listen to his most trusted general?

Rhianna kept these thoughts to herself as Duncan led the way through the ruins. After crossing a bridge that spanned a deep gorge, they emerged into what appeared to be the central part of the camp. They made their way to a huge bonfire ringed by tents. "This is my headquarters here in the city," Duncan explained, and pointed out the tents where they would be sleeping; Rhianna and Solona would share a large yellow tent just next to the green one Duncan indicated was his own.

"We have much to do to prepare for the battle, not least the Joining ritual for the three of you and the other two recruits who are already here," Duncan said. "The afternoon is too far gone, however, for us to prepare for the ritual today, so you may pass the time in whatever way you like. The only thing I ask is that you keep an eye out for one of my Wardens. His name is Alistair; he has short, reddish blonde hair and wears scale mail. If you'll just let him know that we have arrived, I would be grateful."

"So, it's all right for us to explore the camp?" Solona asked, with a hopeful smile and bright eyes.

"Of course," Duncan agreed.

Arcill opted to rest near the bonfire, so the two women and Dane wandered into the camp without him.

All around them, the camp was dotted with colorful tents, and bustled with people. A group of warriors painted designs on their mabari hounds. A Chantry sister led a group of people in prayer. Small knots of soldiers stood idly, chatting with one another about the darkspawn and the prospects for the next battle. Some voices were raised in laughter or shouts, while others conversed in hushed, subdued tones. There were messengers and nurses and blacksmiths and a quartermaster. In truth, a small city had sprung up here in this ancient Tevinter ruin.

"So tell me," Solona said, her voice somewhat breathless. "How it is that you're such good friends with the king? He seemed really happy to see you."

Oh. She didn't mind the thought of Solona knowing the truth, eventually, but she wasn't sure she felt like explaining all of it just now. "I've known Cailan since we were children."

"I liked him," Solona said. "He was very friendly. And handsome, too, don't you think?" Fortunately, before Rhianna could answer, Solona giggled excitedly. "I can hardly believe we're finally here, after so many days of travel. And all this activity! I don't think I could ever have imagined anything like this! It's . . . it's like a festival, almost."

"I suppose it is, in a way," Rhianna agreed, but then she stopped walking.

Festival . . .

"Today is the last day of Solace, isn't it?" Rhianna asked. "Which means tomorrow _is_ a festival. It's Funalis."

"Oh! You're right! I'd completely lost track of the date. I wonder if there will be any sort of celebration? We celebrated holidays at the Circle, but I expect it will be a lot more fun to celebrate here in the camp!"

Not wanting to damper her friend's excitement, Rhianna smiled to hide the unpleasant weight that had settled into her stomach at the thought.

Funalis.

If tomorrow was Funalis, then exactly one year ago today she and Loghain had shared their first real kiss, at the top of Dragon's Peak. That moment was still so clear in her mind, as if it had happened yesterday. The taste of his mouth, the warmth of his arms in the chill air. The feel of his hands as they moved across her body.

And then, on Funalis itself, Thomas Howe had murdered that poor vixen in the palace garden, and Rhianna spent the day with Loghain. She'd offered herself to him that day, in the library of the Highever estate, but he'd said no. Said they should wait until she wanted it as much as he did. If she had it to do again, knowing what she knew now, she'd have begged him. Begged him to make love to her, in spite of her fears.

Would that have made any difference, though? Perhaps he would have ended things with her that much sooner. Had he ever really wanted her in the first place, or had he just pretended all along, forced himself to act as though he found her attractive? If he'd decided he needed a new wife, she would have been the best choice in Ferelden, so maybe it was all an act.

No. No, that was stupid. He couldn't have been pretending. Not the whole time. He'd cared for her. Surely, he had.

Except now a whole year had passed since they had seen one another, and Maker knows she'd been wrong about things before. Wrong about so many things. Maybe she'd only imagined that she and Loghain had some sort of . . . bond. Really, why would a man like him have had any interest in her to begin with? She was so . . . naive, so simple, and certainly no great beauty. Quite boring, probably, to someone like the Teyrn of Gwaren. She'd thought they had a lot in common, shared interests, but that was probably just her imagination as well.

Her vision grew blurry, through tears she refused to shed.

Fortunately, Solona was so taken by everything happening around them that she seemed not to notice. "Look!" She grabbed Rhianna's hand and pulled her toward a cluster of tents. "I think I've found the Circle mages. Let's go say hello!"

As they approached the tents, guarded by solemn-faced templars, Solona led Rhianna toward an older woman dressed in mage's robes. Her white hair was pulled back into a short queue, and she smiled widely at their approach.

"Hello, Wynne!" Solona said.

"Solona!" She caught the girl in an embrace. "This is a surprise!" She stepped back and looked the girl up and down. "You're wearing enchanter's robes. Congratulations on your Harrowing! But I don't understand. What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story," Solona breathed, "and I will tell you all of it, but first, I want you to meet my friend. This is Rhianna. Rhianna, this is Wynne, one of the senior enchanters from the Ferelden Circle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear," the woman said with a warm smile.

"Likewise," Rhianna replied.

"Does this mean Irving allowed more mages to leave the Circle?"

"Not . . . exactly," Solona replied. "Do you know Duncan? The Commander of the Grey Wardens?"

"Not personally, but I know of him."

"He came to Kinloch Hold a few weeks ago, asking for more mages. But the Knight-Commander didn't want to send any. Then . . . well," Solona wrinkled her nose, "there was a bit of unpleasantness. With Jowan. Do you remember Jowan?"

"Of course." She frowned. "Did he get himself into trouble? Did they let him attempt his Harrowing?"

"No, they didn't let him attempt his Harrowing. And he did get into trouble. It turns out that he is . . . well, a blood mage."

"What? Jowan? I find that very difficult to believe. He always seemed so . . . mild mannered."

"Yes, I thought so, too. But it's true. I saw him cast a spell that knocked four grown men onto their backs."

"Blessed Andraste!" Wynne's eyes grew wide. "I expect he was put to death for that."

"No. He managed to escape. After destroying his phylactery."

"He didn't!"

"He did!" Solona chuckled. "It was all such a big mess. Anyway, I sort of got mixed up in all of it, and the Knight-Commander was very angry. Fortunately Duncan was there, and offered me a place with the Grey Wardens. So that's why I'm here. I'm going to join the Grey Wardens."

"I see." Wynne's brow furrowed, and she took a breath as though she intended to speak. Then she glanced at Rhianna, and released the breath. "We'll talk more about this later, shall we? For now, I'm certain Duncan has better things for the two of you to do than speak with an old woman. You'd best be on your way. But do come and speak with me later, Solona. I'd like to hear all the news I've missed since leaving the Circle."

When they left the mages' area, the two women found themselves in front of a tent that flew the Mabari Rampant of Ferelden: the king's own quarters. Before Rhianna could stop him, before she even realized what he was doing, Dane trotted around to the back of the tent, lifted his leg, and sent a stream of urine onto the canvas.

"Dane!" She called to him quietly, so as not to draw attention, but already the guard had noticed and was shooing the hound away with wild gestures of his hands.

"Maker's breath!" Solona giggled. "What in the world got in to him?"

"I don't know," Rhianna replied. Dane took up his place at her side, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Apparently, he's not fond of the King."

She had to stop herself from bursting into laughter. It wasn't funny, really it wasn't. Except that she could hardly blame her dog for disliking the man. Maker knows, Rhianna had reason enough to dislike him. But still. Doing that, on his tent?

As they turned away, just across a short pathway, Rhianna spied another tent. This one sported a banner with a wyvern upon it: the symbol of Gwaren.

Maker's breath.

Loghain's tent.

Maker's_ breath_. He might be inside, right now. Just a few feet away from where she stood.

"Rhianna?" Solona put a gentle hand on Rhianna's arm. "Is everything all right?"

Rhianna turned to face her friend, struggling just a bit to catch her breath. "I'm fine," she insisted. She took Solona's hand, and pulled her in the opposite direction. She wasn't ready to face Loghain. Not just yet. Maybe not ever. "Let's go see what the Quartermaster has for sale."

The Quartermaster had a surprisingly good stock of weapons and armor and various other things: poultices and apparatus for constructing traps, herbs, weapon runes. Rhianna used a few of the gems she'd taken from Highever to purchase a set of leathers that were in better shape than the ones she'd worn since Highever. Solona bought a few things as well, including a bottle of dye to change the color of her robes.

"Now that I'm not in the Circle anymore, I don't think I have to follow their rules about what sort of robes we're allowed to wear," she explained.

After finishing up their business, Rhianna and Solona made their way up a ramp and found themselves in a new part of the camp. To the left was a large open area with a table set up at the far end. To the right, a set of stairs led up into something that seemed like it had once been a temple, built to worship the old Tevinter gods. As they reached the top of the stairs, they found a man in scale mail in a rather heated discussion with a man in robes.

"Your glibness does you no credit," the mage snarled.

"Oh. And here I thought we were getting along so well." The warrior's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I was even going to name one of my children after you. The _grumpy_ one."

"Enough!" The robed man threw his hands in the air. "I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!" He pushed past Rhianna and stormed off down the stairs.

The man in scale mail smiled when he noticed Rhianna and Solona. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

"I'm sorry, what?" Rhianna asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to find a bright side to all this."

Solona shot Rhianna a glance, and wrinkled her nose. "You're a very strange man."

"Believe me, you're not the first woman to tell me that," he quipped.

He was slightly taller than average, with short, dark blonde hair that stuck up in the front. He looked familiar, too. Something about the lines of his face pulled at her memory, but Rhianna couldn't remember where she might have met him before. Or perhaps it was just that he fit the description of the man Duncan had asked them to find.

"Let me guess. You must be Alistair," Rhianna said.

His eyes grew wide. "How did you know that? We haven't met before, have we? I'd feel awful if we'd met before and I'd forgotten. Not that I think I would have forgotten two such lovely women as yourselves, but sometimes things get away from me, if you know what I mean." He looked at Solona, and then at Rhianna, studying her face for rather a long time. "No, I'm certain we haven't met. I would definitely have remembered." He paused. "But yes, I am Alistair." He turned to Solona. "I don't suppose you happen to be another mage, do you?"

"What was your first clue?" Solona glanced at the staff strapped to her back, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Would that make your day worse?"

"Oh no, of course not." More sarcasm. "My day is getting better and better by the moment. Mages just love me." He turned to Rhianna. "And what about you? Are you going to make my day the best it could possibly be and tell me that you're also a mage? I'm guessing not. Well, hoping not, really. You don't look like a mage."

"No, I'm not a mage," Rhianna said carefully, not at all sure what to make of this man. Solona was right; he was strange.

Dane sat on his haunches beside Rhianna, and let out a soft whine. Apparently, he agreed with Solona, as well.

"Well, that's something." Alistair pulled at his chin thoughtfully. "But you knew my name. There must be a reason for that." He lifted a brow. "You're Duncan's new recruits, aren't you?"

"Yes," Solona replied. "He sent us to find you, actually, and let you know that he's returned."

"Thank you for that. I'm glad to hear he's back. Perhaps we should head over to the camp; I'm looking forward to hearing everything that happened to him on his travels."

Solona glanced at Rhianna and shrugged. Her meaning was clear: they'd seen most of the camp already, so they might as well go with him.

"So," Solona began as they walked, "Why were you arguing with that mage?"

"Oh. That." He shrugged. "Well, the Circle is here at the king's request, and the Chantry doesn't like that one bit. And, of course, the Chantry just loves letting mages know how unwelcome they are, as often as possible. So, when the Revered Mother had a message for one of them, she asked me to deliver it. I'm sure she meant it as an insult, and the mage picked right up on that."

"An insult?" Rhianna asked. "Why would he be insulted because you delivered the message?" Alistair was a bit strange, but there wasn't anything particularly unpleasant about him.

"Because before I was a Grey Warden, I used to be a templar. Which makes me rather unpopular with our visitors from the Circle of Magi."

"You were a templar?" Solona straightened, and there was tension in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"Yes, well, sort of. I'd nearly completed my training, but hadn't yet taken my vows when I was recruited into the Wardens. Most of the mages I've met don't seem to care about the distinction, though."

"Are you are going to have a problem with me? With my magic?"

"Problem?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "No! No problem. I'm not trying to be troublesome. It's just that just my background makes mages nervous." He wrinkled his nose. "And nervous mages make me nervous. I don't want to be a toad; I like me the way I am. So, as long you don't turn me into anything small and warty, we'll get along just fine."

Solona raised a brow. "Well, so long as you don't give me cause to turn you into anything small and warty, I suppose there won't be a problem."

Surely, Solona was bluffing. Was it even possible to turn people into toads? Then again, maybe it was possible; she didn't really sound like she was joking. Rhianna would have to ask about that later.

"Good." Alistair chuckled nervously. "I'm glad we've got that settled. So," he said with a grand sweep of his arm, as though wanting very much to change the subject, "As you've probably already discovered, this is the king's camp, which is separate from the where bulk of the army is set up. Here, we've got the Grey Wardens, the Circle of Magi, the Chantry. And of course, King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting somebody important."

"Loghain?" Solona glanced at Rhianna, a question in her eyes. "Wait a minute . . . isn't that the name of the man-"

"Yes," Rhianna said hurriedly, with a small shake of her head, hoping Solona would get the hint. "It is."

Solona did get the hint. "Oh. That's good to know." Solona grinned, but asked no further questions.

"What's this about Teyrn Loghain?" Alistair asked.

"Nothing," Rhianna replied. "Just that I know him. He was a . . . friend of my family, for most of my life."

"Is that so?" Alistair chuckled. "Now, he seems to spend most of his time arguing with King Cailan. I get the feeling they don't always see eye to eye on things."

They passed by a cluster of tents, in front of which several women were gathered together on benches that were arranged to form a little courtyard.

Alistair made a disapproving noise in his throat.

"What is it?" Solona asked. "Is something wrong?"

"What? No. It's just . . . I can't believe the king allows _those_ women to set up their tents. Right here, with the army."

_Those_ women?

Rhianna took a longer glance, and realized what his disapproval was about. The women clearly weren't soldiers. Their clothes were well made, but the bodices cut somewhat lower than would be considered proper here in Ferelden, although still modest compared to the gowns Rhianna had worn in Orlais. Their faces were painted, and some of them had bare feet, and allowed flashes of leg to show as they lounged on the benches.

Prostitutes.

"Of course the king is going to allow them in camp," Rhianna said. "They're offering a service many of the soldiers want."

"Hmnh. Be that as it may, it's hardly seemly to have them just . . . sitting here. In the middle of everything."

Before she could think of a reply, Rhianna stopped walking.

One of those faces was familiar.

"What are you doing?" Alistair called out. Rhianna ignored him as she changed course, and approached the women, with Dane at her side.

"See something you like, love?" one of them cooed. "You're a pretty little thing; I'd give you a tumble at a right good price."

"Thank you, but no." Rhianna walked up to a woman with long, dark hair and pale skin. A woman who, in truth, had more than a passing resemblance to Rhianna.

"Catrin?"

The woman's eyes widened, first with surprise, and then recognition. "Maker's blood. If it isn't Lady Cousland." As Catrin got up from her seat, she glanced down at Rhianna's attire. "I didn't recognize you at first, all grown up and dressed like a soldier? And you've cut off your hair."

"Yes, I suppose I do look different." Rhianna's face burst into a smile. "It's so good to see you!" And it was - it was wonderful to see a familiar face, so far away from home when she least expected it. Impulsively, she stepped forward and pulled the older woman into an embrace.

Laughing, Catrin returned the hug. "And it's wonderful to see you. And you, as well, handsome," she cooed at Dane, as he pushed his nose into her hand.

"You came here, all the way from Denerim?" Rhianna asked.

"Oh, aye. There's a lot of money to be made here just now," she grinned. "A few months following the army, and I'll be set for a year or two."

"But aren't you worried about the darkspawn?"

"No." She shrugged. "We're safe enough I figure. I mean, we're surrounded by the army. I don't see how the darkspawn will get through all of them, just to come after us."

She had a point.

"And what about you," Catrin continued. "Why are you here?"

"I'm joining the Grey Wardens."

Catrin's brow lifted. "You? A Grey Warden? That's unexpected. I would have thought you'd be betrothed by now to that man of yours. I've seen him around camp from time to time. He always has a friendly word for me."

"No." Rhianna struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Loghain and I . . . well, that . . . that's not going to happen."

Catrin's smile disappeared. "Now that really _is_ unexpected." She frowned. "What happened?"

"A lot of things," Rhianna replied. "So many things happened over the past year that I could never have foreseen. So here I am." She glanced behind her; Solona looked a bit tense, as though she was torn between wanting to join the conversation and being uncertain of her welcome. At her side, Alistair stood with his arms crossed, a deep frown on his face. "I'm not sure this is the best time to get into it, though.

"No, I can see that." Catrin reached up and rested her palm on Rhianna's cheek. "We'll talk another time, then. One thing is certain: you look tired. Inside and out."

"I am tired." Rhianna managed a genuine smile, though.

"Rhianna?" Alistair's voice was somewhat higher pitched than it had been before. "We should probably go speak to Duncan now." Rhianna glanced over her shoulder again, but didn't bother to respond.

"I don't think your friend likes me," Catrin chuckled.

"He's not really my friend," Rhianna murmured. "But, he's right. I probably should go."

"Of course. But come and find me some other time. When we can talk longer, and get caught up."

"I will." Rhianna hugged Catrin again. "And whatever you do, stay away from the darkspawn. Please."

"I will, I promise."

Rhianna returned to her companions, and as they walked away, Alistair muttered, "That was awkward."

"Awkward?" Rhianna lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Standing around in the middle of camp, talking to . . . common women."

"You needn't have waited for me, if it bothered you so much."

"That's not the point!"

"No? Then what is?"

"They shouldn't even be here at all. The Chantry says-"

"Alistair." Solona's voice was soft, but firm. "That woman is Rhianna's friend."

"But-"

"They're friends," Solona repeated.

"That's the point!" He turned to Rhianna. "How is it you even know a woman like that, in the first place?"

Rhianna felt a stab of annoyance. "A woman like that? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. Look what she does for a living!"

"But you don't even know her. You don't know anything about her, and you just assume she's a bad person?"

Yes, well . . ." He seemed to lose some of his thunder, and let out a ragged sigh. "How do you know her, anyway?"

"How do I know Catrin?" Rhianna stopped walking. "All right. I'll tell you. A few years ago, the Arl of Denerim's son tried to rape me. I managed to fight him off, but afterwards, on the same night, he very nearly murdered Catrin, just because she looks a bit like me. When I found out what had happened, I went to see her, see if there was anything I could do to help her. That's how we met, and we've seen one another now and then over the years. She's a good person. I don't see how what she does for a living has anything to do with it."

"You . . . and she . . ." Alistair's shouldered drooped. "That's . . . awful. That you were both attacked. But-"

"No. There is no 'but.'" Rhianna turned, and with a glance at Solona, who quickly fell into step at her side, began to walk toward the Grey Warden camp. She'd had enough of this particular conversation. They soon reached the bonfire, with Alistair hurrying to keep up.

They arrived to find Duncan talking to two men Rhianna had not seen before: the other two Warden recruits. The three men stood near the fire, while Arcill sat on the ground nearby, his back against a tree. His eyes were closed, and Rhianna couldn't tell if he was asleep, or just resting.

"Ah, excellent timing," Duncan said as Rhianna and Solona joined the group. "I was just preparing to give Daveth and Jory the details of what you'll all be doing tomorrow."

Daveth was thin and wiry, with dark hair and a cheeky, but extremely charming smile. The other recruit, Jory, had dark red hair and a shield that marked him as a knight of Redcliffe. There was something familiar about him; Rhianna had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't remember when or where.

"I was not aware women were permitted to join the Grey Wardens," Jory's said upon being introduced to Rhianna and Solona.

"Is that a problem for you?" Solona sounded deeply unimpressed.

"It's just that none of those I've seen thus far have been."

Rhianna gave an overly wide smile as she looked him up and down. He was tall and reasonably well muscled, but looked likely to be slow. No doubt, she could take him. "If you've any doubts about our abilities, I'll be more than happy to meet you on the practice field." She fingered the dagger at her waist.

"No, n-no. Of course not," he stuttered. "That's not necessary. You obviously impressed Duncan, and that's enough for me."

When he turned his head, the memory of where she'd seen him before came back to her. "Wait a minute . . . You won the grand melee in the tournament my father held in Highever, back in Cloudreach."

Rhianna hadn't entered the tournament, specifically because Duncan had been there, watching, but she remembered the man who'd won. This knight was faster than he looked, but his fighting style was ridiculously predictable. She could take him. Easily.

His eyes grew wide. "You're the Teyrn of Highever's daughter?"

"Yes."

"My Lady Cousland." He bowed. "I'm honored."

"Don't be. I'm just a Grey Warden now. Or will be soon." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan's eyes widen. She glanced at him, and he nodded his head, slightly, as if in approval.

"You carry a Redcliffe device," Rhianna continued. "What were you doing in Highever?"

"My wife, Helena, is from Highever, and Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve there. I was attempting to persuade her to come back with me to Redcliffe." He wrinkled his nose. "The damp air in Highever didn't suit me. Then, of course, I was recruited."

"So," Rhianna began, careful to keep her tone light. "She remained in Highever?"

"Yes." He smiled proudly, with no hint of worry. "She's there now, expecting our first child."

Clearly, he hadn't heard the recent news from the north. Perhaps she'd pull him aside later and tell him what had happened. Then again, perhaps it would be kinder not to say anything. There was no Helena who had worked in the castle, and since Rhianna didn't know the woman personally, she probably hadn't been harassed by the Amaranthine guards, and was safe and sound.

Duncan filled the silence that followed. "As Alistair may have mentioned, in order to prepare for the Joining ritual, you will each need to obtain a vial of darkspawn blood. To do that, you'll venture into the Korcari Wilds first thing in the morning."

Rhianna's breath caught in her throat. "You're sending us out into the Wilds?"

Hadn't Cailan said that Fergus was scouting out in the Wilds?

"Yeah," Daveth drawled, "I wasn't happy about that part, either, when I heard about it. I grew up in a village about a day's trip to the east of here, right on the edge of the Wilds, and we stayed as far away from the forest as possible. Cannibals, beasts, witches, and now darkspawn? What isn't there to be scared of?"

Rhianna gave him a brief smile, but then turned back to the Warden commander. "Duncan?" she said simply.

His eyes narrowed as he returned her gaze. "Rhianna . . . I don't think-"

"Please, Duncan. You can't say no to this." She dropped her voice until it was barely above a whisper. "My brother is out there. He deserves to know what happened, and I need to know that he's all right. That he's still alive. Please. If we're going out there anyway, just let me at least look for signs that he might be nearby."

Duncan glanced at Alistair, and then back at Rhianna. "All right. But you must be back at camp by sunset. Which means you won't be able to go far. And you must attend to the tasks I'm giving you before anything else. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ser."

"Wait?" Jory's voice rang out loudly. "Are you saying that we're being sent out into the Wilds to look for darkspawn, only now we're going to have to stay out longer, to look for this woman's long lost brother?"

Rhianna whirled to face him. "You don't have to come with me. I'll get a vial of blood for you and hold your hand all the way back to camp, if you like. Then I'll look for Fergus on my own."

"That is not going to happen," Duncan said firmly, his eyes on Rhianna. "You will all stay together." He paused. "In any case, Jory, I have a second task for all of you to undertake, so you would be traveling some distance away from camp regardless of the search for Rhianna's brother. There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. I want you to retrieve those scrolls if you can."

"Is this also part of our Joining?" Solona asked.

"No, but the effort must be made. The scrolls are old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They may prove very useful in the days to come."

"Wait, you said the five of us?" Daveth lifted a brow. "Does that mean you're sending us recruits out there all on our own?"

"No," Duncan replied. "Alistair will accompany you. But Arcill will remain here, in camp."

"And what's so special about him," Jory complained, "that he gets to stay behind in the safety of the camp?"

"Jory, hush," Rhianna warned quietly, and shot the man a look intended to silence him. To Duncan, "Give me his vial; I'll get the blood he needs."

Duncan nodded, but before he could respond, Jory interrupted. "No, I will not be silenced. He's bigger than any of us, and I expect that axe of his would be handy against the darkspawn."

"Jory," Rhianna repeated. "Lower your voice. Please."

"I don't have to do what you say. You're not a teyrn's daughter anymore. And I want to know why he's not coming with us."

"Shut up, you fool," Solona hissed, in a voice pitched low enough not to carry far. "Can't you see he's ill? He's probably not strong enough to come with us, and listening to you complain isn't going to help. It'll only make him feel worse. So just stop it."

"Oh." To his credit, Jory managed to look reasonably chagrined, and he left off his questions.

"All right." Duncan paused, and looked at each of them in turn. "I think that's everything you'll need to know for tomorrow. Feel free to do what you like this evening. All I ask is that you stay here, in this part of the king's camp, rather than going out of the city to where the bulk of the army is located."

As the Wardens and recruits disbursed, Jory pulled Daveth aside, and began whispering furiously. Rhianna could guess what he was saying, but she honestly didn't care.

She strode over to the tent she would share with Solona, and ducked inside. Solona followed, and together, the two women set up their few things in as comfortable a manner as possible.

"You know," Solona began, "I'm happy to go anywhere with you, to help you find your brother." She put her hands on her hips. "I don't like that Jory anyway. No women in the Grey Wardens? Who does he think he is?"

"I know." Rhianna rolled her eyes. "I almost wished he'd pressed the matter. I would have enjoyed teaching him a lesson on the practice field." She sighed. "But thank you, for your support. I just can't go out into the Wilds and _not_ look for Fergus. I need to know that he's all right. That Howe's men haven't somehow gotten to him, or darkspawn, or . . . well, what was it Daveth said? Cannibals, beasts and witches?" She chuckled in spite of herself. "Witches. At least that's not likely to be a problem."

She began to unbuckle her armor, wanting to see how the new leathers she had bought would fit. With Solona's help, in a matter of minutes, Rhianna was strapped into her new armor, which was dyed black with lovely knot work tooled into the leather at the shoulders. She was pleased; it fit perfectly, as though it had been made for her. The leather was thicker than she was used to; that might slow her down at first, but it would also give better protection. No doubt, that would come in handy sooner or later.

Solona sat on her cot. "I wish we could go out into the rest of the camp. I was hoping to find my cousins."

"Why don't you go ask Duncan about it? Maybe he'll give us permission to go out there tonight? Maybe he'll even help you find them. We can't exactly just wander out into the camp, after all. There are thousands of soldiers here. It would be like looking for two needles in a haystack."

"That's true," Solona laughed. "I think I will go talk to Duncan, though. Do you want to come along?" Solona's offer was sincere, but Rhianna detected a hint of some hesitation in her voice.

"No, that's all right. You go without me." Now that they were here in camp, perhaps Solona would try and arrange a bit of private time with Duncan.

"All right. What are you going to do instead?"

I don't know," Rhianna replied. But there was something in the back of her mind, something that had been pecking away at her consciousness since they first set foot into camp.

Actually, she did know what she wanted to do. What she needed to do.

"On second thought, I do have an idea. There's someone I want to go and visit."

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Many thanks to my lovely beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my reviewers: Milly-finalfantasy, KatDancer2, KrystylSky, Skidney, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyrannosaurustex, Kateskate24, and SwomeeSwan.

I apologize for not getting Loghain into this chapter, but first there was just so much to do, and so many people to see, here in camp. We'll see him in the next chapter, though. Oh yes, we will. :D

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	11. One thing he could not deny

_**30 Solace, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Ostagar**__**  
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Loghain stared at the map of Ostagar and the surrounding landscape for the twentieth time that day. Perhaps if he stared at it long enough, something would change. Miraculously, they would have enough soldiers to face the ever-increasing numbers of this horde. Or perhaps a battle plan would pop into his head that was "glorious" enough to satisfy Cailan without putting the king on the front lines with the Grey Wardens.

Or, perhaps, an enormous hole would open up in the ground and the whole of the Korcari Wilds would be sucked into the earth, dragging them all along with it. That would take care of the darkspawn and the rest of his worries, all at once.

At this point, even that sounded preferable to the situation at hand.

As the king was so fond of saying, things had gone well at the start. But the size of the horde was increasing faster than reinforcements from across Ferelden could arrive. One day soon - very soon - they would be outnumbered.

This in and of itself was hardly an untenable situation; Ostagar was relatively easy to defend, and they were safe here, for the time being, from the bulk of the horde. Smaller bands of soldiers could be sent out to whittle away at the darkspawn, with blessedly few casualties. In this way, they could bide their time until all the forces from across Ferelden arrived, and then, perhaps, they could consider a larger assault.

But Cailan had grown weary of this war, and was determined to end the Blight in a single, huge battle that "bards would sing of for centuries." Not only was he adamant that it was time to end this once and for all, but he had rejected the first half-dozen battle plans Loghain devised. Plans that ensured the king's safety, away from the front lines. Time and time again they had argued about it; just about every day, sometimes multiple times per day, Loghain had tried to make the lad see reason. But Cailan was obsessed with Duncan and his Maker-damned Grey Wardens, and determined to fight alongside them, no matter how dangerous or foolish it might be.

Damn it. Would Loghain ever be free of the Grey Wardens? For twenty years – since that band of Orlesian Wardens had waltzed into the Denerim Palace and convinced Maric to sneak away with them in the middle of the night - they had brought nothing but trouble into his life. And now, more than ever, he was suspicious of their insistence that they were necessary to end the blight, assuming this even was a blight. Yes, the few of them that were here in Ferelden had proven effective against the darkspawn, but they alone were not going to end this war, no matter what Cailan believed.

A delay of even a few weeks might be all the time that was needed. Men from Oswin were expected any day now, as were Amaranthine's troops. Cailan had yet to ask Eamon to bring his five hundred Redcliffe soldiers, but if word was sent now, the journey from Redcliffe could be made in about a week, and the addition of those men would even the odds substantially in their favor.

Of course, Cailan waved away these concerns, and had only agreed to wait long enough for Duncan to return, or for the arrival of the Orlesian Wardens and the chevaliers the empress had insisted must accompany them. Chevaliers, of course, were not going to be allowed to cross the border. Loghain had sent strict orders to the men guarding Gherlen's Pass: the Wardens could enter, but not a single chevalier would set foot on Fereldan soil. Not one.

At any rate, with Cailan insisting on a battle "like in the tales," Loghain had attempted to come up with some strategy that would placate the king, as well as get the job done, but it just wasn't coming together with the resources they had at hand.

Still, he had to try. So, he pushed up the sleeves of his linen shirt - there was no point in wearing armor while they sat idle in camp - and stared at the map, hoping that this time his eyes would land on something he'd missed before, something that would lead to a stronger battle plan than the one they had now, the only one Cailan would entertain, in spite of the fact that it put the king smack in the middle of the action, at great risk to his life.

"Excuse me, Commander." Loghain's guard stuck his head through the opening of the tent. "There's someone here to see you. Says she's an old friend of yours."

An old friend? Who could that be? He'd never had a surfeit of friends. Ser Greta, perhaps, although he wasn't aware she'd come to Ostagar. Or maybe Ser Jana was here, from Highever. That would be good news, if she had arrived with Amaranthine's soldiers.

"Very well. I'll be right there."

He left the map open on the desk and went out into the late afternoon sunlight. The chill in the air was more noticeable now than it had been even a week ago; autumn was well on its way, and would be followed closely by winter this far south. In this one way, Cailan was right about the need to end this relatively soon; trying to overwinter the army here at Ostagar would likely be disastrous.

A woman stood in front of his tent, her back to him. At the sight of her, he stopped walking, and his breath caught in his chest.

Maker's blood.

Her hair was different, and he'd not seen that armor before, but he would have recognized her anywhere. Her posture, and the way her weight rested slightly more on her right leg. The curve of her waist. The angle where her neck and her shoulder met.

But what in the world was she doing here?

"Rhianna?"

She turned to face him.

Her lips were slightly parted and unsmiling, her eyes were wide, and he couldn't read her expression. She looked tired, though. No. Not just tired, more than that. She looked exhausted. She'd lost weight, her cheeks were gaunt, and her skin was so pale she looked almost ghostly. Dark smudges beneath her eyes spoke of an extended lack of sleep, or some other sort of hardship. And she'd cut off all her hair. He couldn't decide if it made her look older, or very, very young. Surprisingly, Dane was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully nothing bad had happened to the hound.

She smiled, a weak, tentative smile. "Hello, Loghain."

Her voice sent a shiver through him. "Rhianna. I . . . I didn't expect to see you here. I spoke with Fergus, briefly, before he went into the Wilds. He said your father was coming south with Howe, but that you were to remain in Highever to manage the teyrnir."

That conversation had been more than a bit awkward. Clearly, Fergus knew at least some of the details about Rhianna and Loghain's failed relationship. The lad was gruff, but they only had a few minutes to speak, and Cailan was present, so nothing was said about it openly. It was obvious, though, that if they'd been in private, Loghain would have had an earful. Well deserved, no doubt.

"Yes, that was the original plan. But my father's not coming."

"Not coming? Why not?"

"He's . . . " She took a deep breath and let it out again. "He's . . . dead. Along with most everyone else who lived in Highever Castle."

Loghain's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. At first, he thought he must have heard wrong. Bryce Cousland dead? Along with the rest of Highever? But the look in her face told him that he had, indeed, heard her correctly.

"Blessed Andraste," he swore. "What happened? Have the darkspawn attacked in the north now, as well?"

That would be a disaster beyond anything Loghain could imagine. They had barely enough soldiers here in Ostagar to face the horde to the south. If the darkspawn had great enough numbers to attack somewhere else . . .

"No, it's nothing to do with the darkspawn."

Loghain felt a fleeting moment of relief, followed quickly by an even deeper sense of dread. "If not darkspawn, then what?"

"It was Rendon Howe," Rhianna continued. "The night after Fergus marched south with the bulk of the Highever Regulars, Howe ordered his men to attack the castle. In the middle of the night." She shifted her gaze, and looked out over the camp. "He intended to murder all of us in our sleep, but Dane woke me in time to pull myself together and fight my way out."

She met his gaze again. "Mother and I were able to make it to the servants' entrance, but Father . . ." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, and they were bright with unshed tears. "Father had been wounded too badly to even try and leave the castle."

Loghain's stomach churned and he felt almost dizzy, and wished there was something nearby to grab hold of, to steady himself. Rendon Howe had betrayed the Couslands? That seemed impossible; Bryce and Howe had been close friends for many years. Then again, Howe made no secret of the fact that he was disappointed by his lot in life, that he thought Maric should have made him a teyrn for his part in the Rebellion. And, over the years, the man had shown nothing but disdain for Rhianna.

Still, to murder an entire family? That was beyond the pale.

No wonder she was pallid and gaunt. Rhianna had suffered a profound loss.

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Come," he urged. "Let's go inside. We can talk there."

She nodded, and allowed him to lead her into the tent, and over to the cot that served as both chair and bed. He grabbed a bottle and two glasses, and came to sit beside her. She threw back the first shot of whiskey he offered her, but declined a second.

"You said your mother wasn't wounded," he began. "Did she make it out with you? Is she here as well? And what of Dane?"

"Dane is here. Last time I saw him, he was on his way to greet the hounds in the kennel. My mother . . . isn't, though. When it came down to it, she refused to leave. She said she was doing it to buy Duncan and I time to escape, but I think really, she just couldn't bear to leave him." Rhianna caught Loghain's eyes. "I didn't want to leave him either, but I wasn't given that choice."

"What do you mean, you weren't given the choice? And Duncan? Do you mean the Warden Commander? What does he have to do with this?"

"Duncan happened to be at the castle that evening. He was there recruiting for the Grey Wardens before returning here. I would have stayed with my parents and fought, but he . . . took me out of the castle, helped me escape."

Maker's balls.

"Please tell me you've not joined the Grey Wardens."

"I haven't, not yet." Her shoulders sagged. "But that is that plan. As soon as preparations can be made, I am to become a Grey Warden."

"No. Rhianna, no." He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. "You can't do this. The Grey Wardens have a dark history, and too many secrets, and all of it wrapped up with Orlais. You can't join them. You mustn't join them."

She held his gaze. "I don't have a choice. I didn't agree to any of this. Duncan conscripted me, and literally dragged me out of the castle. It was his right to do so."

"There's a ritual or something, isn't there?" Loghain's mind raced. There had to be some way around this. "Have you gone through it yet?"

"No, I believe it will happen tomorrow."

"Then don't do it. I don't give a damn about the Right of Conscription. There must be a way to get them to release their hold on you. I'll speak with Cailan." Although that was not guaranteed to do much good; the king might insist that Rhianna accept such a "great honor," as fascinated as he was with the Wardens. "Well, maybe not Cailan, but I'll write to Anora, and take you under my protection in the meantime, if it comes to that."

"No." Rhianna shook her head. "Thank you, but no. It's all right, really. I was angry about being conscripted at first, but I'm not anymore. I'm not angry at anyone other than Rendon Howe."

"Are you saying this is what you want? You want to join the Grey Wardens?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying." She sighed. "I don't _want_ to be a Grey Warden, but I am resigned to it now. And it was my father's dying wish: that Duncan would help me escape, and I would join the Wardens." She paused. "To be honest, I can't see what else there is for me to do. Highever is gone, for now anyway. I don't have anywhere else to go. And there are darkspawn to fight." She shrugged a shoulder. "I've always wanted to serve Ferelden in whatever way I can. Maybe this is my chance to do that." She caught his gaze. "This is a blight. I know you haven't been given any proof, but there is an archdemon behind this, and it truly is a blight." She bit her bottom lip. "The Wardens need me. They . . . want me." She looked down at the floor. "I don't think anyone else does."

No one else wanted her?

Surely, that comment was aimed at him, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral as he studied her profile. Her eyes were bright, and her lower lip trembled, but again, he couldn't be certain of what she was feeling. That alone made him uncomfortable; there was a time when he could read every mood in her face.

But now, he had no idea what was going on in her head. Was she angry? With him? Not that he would blame her, but even so, how could she believe there was no one who cared about her?

She closed her eyes and ran her hands across her face, and when she opened her eyes again she looked . . . empty. Defeated and hollow. He had never seen her like this before. Not after Maric disappeared, not after she was attacked by Vaughan, or the werewolves, or the poachers. Not when Tanith nearly died in her arms.

Something twisted inside him. When she'd said no one wanted her, she hadn't meant it as an attack or an accusation.

She believed it was true.

Blessed Andraste. What had he done to her?

"I need to find Fergus." she said before he could think of anything to say. "I need to tell him what happened."

"What of Oriana and Oren?" he asked, dreading her answer.

"They're dead, too. They were probably among the first to be murdered." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Mother and I found them, in their bedroom. They were just lying on the floor. Oriana's throat had been cut, and Oren . . ." Rhianna's body tensed up beside him. "Oren . . . Oh, Loghain." Her voice was tiny and desperate and miserable. "They ran him through with a sword. How could they do that? He was only five years old." A tear slipped down her cheek. "He was the most precious thing in all the world, and they ran him through with a sword. How could anyone do a thing like that?" Her breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders began to shake. She leaned forward, face in her hands, and began to sob so quietly that at first Loghain wasn't certain she was crying.

Maker's blood. Rendon Howe had massacred the Couslands. It seemed impossible, ludicrous, but obviously it was the truth. Memories flooded him: meals in the dining hall of Highever Castle, little Oren laughing as he tried to climb on Dane's broad back. Eleanor, in tears, when Rhianna had the plague. Oriana's gentle smile and sharp eyes. Bryce's face as Loghain had left Highever House on that last morning in Denerim. As furious as Loghain had been with the man, the thought that he was now dead? Something hollow bloomed in his chest, something raw and painful, but he forced his breath to remain steady. Forced himself to remain calm, for Rhianna's sake.

He put his arm around her shoulders, and urged her close. At first she resisted, and then she curled up against him, as she had done so many times in the past. She began to cry in earnest, and her entire body shook with the effort. Small sounds escaped her throat, and then she moaned, a heartbreaking, mournful sound devoid of anything but misery and grief. He pulled her even closer, and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

Holding her like this was so familiar. How many times had he comforted her this way? And she'd done the same for him, more than once.

There was something different this time, though, something that made him ache in a way he'd never felt before. Perhaps it was just that her grief was so much more profound than ever before, or perhaps it was the time they had spent apart.

No. It was neither of those things. It had nothing to do with Rhianna; it was Loghain's own feelings that made him so uncomfortable.

Guilt. Regret. Anger. Shame. And the feeling that somehow, _he _had done this to her. That he was the cause of her grief.

Of course, he wasn't. Maker knows she had reason enough to cry after losing her family and her home. But that didn't absolve Loghain of guilt for all the other things he'd done. For leading her on, even if that had never been his intention. For taking her to his bed, and then turning his back on her in the cold, harsh light of reality. Surely, there had been times when she had wept and he had not been there to comfort her. When he, himself, had been the cause of her pain.

In truth, he deserved to be hated for what he'd done. If she had come to him and screamed, struck out at him, denounced him as the miserable coward he was, he'd have taken it quietly, knowing she had every right to hate him.

But she hadn't come to him in anger. She had sought him out . . . well, he wasn't sure why, or what her purpose had been. But she trusted him enough to tell him the truth, and to let him see her so vulnerable. Surely that meant she didn't hate him, no matter how much he deserved it. And he would give her whatever she needed from him, to the very best of his ability.

Maker, how much she had suffered during the past year?

A year.

Had it been an entire year already?

Yes, it had. Tomorrow was Funalis, which meant that exactly one year ago today, they had climbed Dragon's Peak, and he had kissed her for the first time. His arms tightened their hold on her, as he struggled against the hollow feeling in his chest, his own grief and pain.

Those weeks, those precious few days he had with her . . .

He didn't allow himself to think about them very often, if at all. Ignoring those memories was the only way to go through with what he believed had needed to be done. He had spent so much time convincing himself that what he'd done was for the best. That Rhianna was safer, and would be happier in the long run, without him.

But had she really been safer? Her family was dead; would Howe have dared attack the Couslands if Rhianna had been Loghain's wife? And now she was being forced to join the Grey Wardens, which seemed likely to promise a short life, and a violent end. Perhaps there was still some way he could spare her from that, no matter how resigned to it she was.

What if, by walking away, he'd harmed her even more?

That thought hurt more than he could bear, so he pushed it away, and turned his attention to the physical presence of the woman in his arms. One of his hands rested at her waist, and the other stroked what was left of her hair.

It had been a shock, seeing her without it. Why had she cut it? Practicality, no doubt. She and Duncan must have walked here from Highever, which would have made bathing inconvenient. Still, something inside him ached it the absence of it. Not for his own sake. Not just for his own sake, anyway. Yes, her hair had been beautiful. He had always loved running his fingers through it, loved its silken softness, its weight in his hands. But he'd surrendered long ago the privilege of touching her in that way. No, he ached for her sake. She had always been proud of her hair. She'd told him once that she thought it her best feature, and now, it was gone. What did that mean to her? Convenience aside, it seemed symbolic as well. How much of her old life had been shorn away along with her tresses?

Again, the thought made him ache.

They stayed that way, wrapped up together until Rhianna's sobs had subsided, and she eased herself from his arms. She sat up and wiped the tears from her face with the heels of her hands. Loghain had no idea how much time had passed, only that the sun had set, and it had grown dark in his tent, so he rose, and crossed the room to light a lantern before returning to her side.

She turned toward him, hands folded in her lap, but didn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I . . . I . . . well, that's the first time I've really cried since . . . any of this happened."

Blessed Andraste. No wonder there had been so much grief pent up inside of her.

"You've no need to apologize. I just wish there was something tangible I could do to help."

"Cailan promised that once the darkspawn have been defeated, he'll take the army north. That Howe will hang." She paused. "I'm not sure that will make me feel any better, but I suppose it will give me some . . . closure, anyway." She took a deep breath and ran her hands across her face. Then she fell silent and stared at her hands as they rested in her lap.

She was calm now, outwardly, but he could sense the depth of her pain, like a weight that pulled at every part of her. He remembered how this felt. He had lost people he loved to violence, and remembered that weight, how it settled so deep inside it became a part of him, always. For him, it had been such a long time ago that the sharp agony of it was gone, dulled to only occasional moments of regret. Someday, this would be true for Rhianna, as well, and the full force of her grief would wane. But trying to tell her this now, while it was still so raw, would bring no comfort.

He needed to comfort her though. He was desperate to do something – anything – to soothe away her pain, even if only for a few minutes. So he did the only thing he knew to do: he reached over, and took one of her hands in his, and held it.

Her fingers wrapped around his, and she squeezed gently, and warmth flooded through him. Warmth, and gratitude that she was willing to accept what he had to offer.

After a minute, she turned her face to his, and he found himself unable to take in a breath.

She was beautiful. So very beautiful, and the earlier warmth shifted, and bloomed into something more primal. More urgent.

He wanted to kiss her. To taste the sweetness of her mouth, to hear her sigh with pleasure. To press his lips against her throat and feel her heart beat against them.

He forced himself to draw in a breath, as he pushed these feelings aside. No matter how much he wanted it, kissing her was something he absolutely could not do. Probably, she would not even welcome an advance, and even if by some miracle she did, he could hardly justify such a thing. She was grieving for her family; taking advantage of her now, when she'd come to him for comfort, would be even more despicable than all the things he had done before.

"Are we really going to be able to do this?" she murmured. "Defeat the darkspawn? When I spoke with Cailan . . . well, I get the feeling he isn't taking this as seriously as he should. Duncan told me the horde numbers at least ten thousand. Are there soldiers enough to face that many?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Two units of men arrived every hour today, and I expect double that tomorrow. Even so, I am honestly not sure it will be enough, not to defeat the horde in a single, decisive battle, which is what Cailan seems to want. And if there are more darkspawn than we anticipate?" He shrugged, and shook his head.

"We have to stop them," Rhianna said. "They'll destroy Ferelden if given the chance." She ran the back of her hand across her nose. "I hate them. They're horrible and they're ugly and useless, and there's no reason for them to be here, and I _hate_ them."

The petulant tone in her voice made her sound so young. Of course, she _was_ young. She'd only just turned eighteen.

Before he could think of anything to say, she continued, "I wish Maric were here." She didn't speak the rest of the sentence, but this time, Loghain knew exactly what she was thinking: "instead of Cailan."

"Yes. So do I." That was truer than he cared to admit. There had been times over the past months when he wished desperately that his best friend were here. Not just because he missed him, but because Maric would have responded to this threat in a much different, much more appropriate way. "Maric understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle."

"Yes, that's it exactly. Cailan seems to be caught up in notions of glory, in fighting a battle bards will write songs about." She met his eyes, her expression earnest and a bit frightened. "But bards don't write songs only about victories, and I'm afraid that if Cailan has his way, the only songs about Ostagar will be tragedies."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "It will be all right, in the long run. Even if we can't beat them in one 'glorious' battle, the darkspawn will not destroy Ferelden. I'll not let that happen, I swear it."

Rhianna, her eyes still red-rimmed and puffy, held his gaze. "I know. I trust you."

Hearing those words from her lips hurt him in an entirely new way. The last thing he deserved was her trust.

Something in her expression shifted. She swallowed, and her lips parted, and he became aware of the way her chest rose and fell with her breath.

Again, he wanted so much to kiss her. To pull her close, to cover her mouth with his own. To feel her fingers wind themselves into his hair. He wanted to ease her down onto the cot, and make love to her as slowly and deliberately as he knew how. To hear her cry out his name, feel her body tighten around his. To do everything in his power to ease her grief and pain, and his own.

He swallowed, and drew in a breath.

A crease formed along her brow, and she looked confused, but she leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, and without thinking, he did the same.

"Excuse me, Commander?" His guard's voice, at the door to the tent.

Loghain took his hand from her shoulder, and she sat up, startled.

"Enter," Loghain said.

The guard ducked through the tent flap. "The Ash Warrior scouts have returned, ser. They wish to speak with you." He glanced at Rhianna. "Shall I tell them to come back later?"

Before Loghain could answer, Rhianna stood. "No. It's all right. I should go." To Loghain, "I've wasted too much of your time today already. Thank you, though. I think . . . I think I needed this."

"I'm glad you came." He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the wave of regret that washed over him. "It was . . . good to see you, Rhianna. Good to talk to you. I'm sure we'll see one another again soon." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "And I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." She smiled, a tired smile that looked as though it took a great effort.

She walked toward the door.

"Rhianna." At the sound of her name, she turned back to him. "Are you sure about this thing with the Wardens?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Very well. But if you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word, and I will do everything in my power to stop it."

That tired smile again. "Thank you. I do appreciate that, truly." She reached for the tent flap, but then turned toward him once again. "Did you receive a letter from my father? A few months ago?"

"A letter from your father? No." He'd had no word at all from Bryce since the morning they spoke at Highever House. "Why? What was it about?"

Maker. Had Bryce changed his mind, and decided to allow Rhianna and Loghain to marry? If a letter to that effect had gotten lost along the way, and Rhianna thought Loghain had just ignored it? He could only imagine how much that would have hurt her.

She studied his face. "Nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing that can't wait, anyway, until this business with the darkspawn is finished."

Then she was gone, and it was though all the warmth had gone out of the room along with her, and in its place a familiar emptiness settled around him. The emptiness that had come into his life when her father took her from Denerim, and which had never entirely left. The emptiness Loghain had tried to fill by busying his days with work, and occasionally with liquor.

Most days, he'd been successful at keeping the emptiness at bay. But now? It had been difficult to put her out of his mind at a distance. Up close, it would likely be impossible.

Because he still loved her. No matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise, seeing her today had made him realize that he loved her as much as he ever had.

And now she was here. There seemed no way this could end well. Whatever the two of them might have shared in the past was long dead. Having her here would only serve as a distraction, and things were already complicated enough.

But as the last traces of her warmth lingered on his skin, there was one thing he could not deny. Even as he dreaded the complications her presence here might bring, he was glad she was here. Just the sight of her face had made him happy in a way he hadn't felt in . . . well, almost a year.

He turned to the guard. "Tell the scouts I'll be with them presently."

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After Rhianna left Loghain's tent, she couldn't quite catch her breath, couldn't fill her lungs with air. She felt empty and hollow, but also somehow more alive than she'd felt in weeks, as though she were floating, and it was wonderful and terrible in equal parts.

More than anything, though, she was scared.

But why? None of her worst fears had come to pass. Loghain hadn't pushed her away. Far from it; he had been kind, and gentle. He'd listened, and held her while she cried. So why did she feel slightly panicked, as though she wanted to claw off her own skin?

She started walking. She needed to move, to burn off all this energy coursing through her, and she didn't care where her feet might take her.

She soon found herself on the long bridge they'd crossed on their way into camp. Halfway across, she stopped, and looked out over the vista below. To the north, the gorge opened up to a large field that showed signs of past battles - the earth was torn up in places, and scorched in others. Beyond, the forest stretched as far as the eye could see. She turned to the south; there, the gorge narrowed, and ended abruptly where rocky cliffs stretched up in the near distance.

Letting out a ragged breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding so loudly in her chest. Willed herself to breathe through feelings that threatened to drown her.

The memories of what had happened in Highever, and finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her grief.

The reality of being here, at Ostagar, plunged into the middle of a war against the darkspawn.

The looming threat of this ritual the Grey Wardens would force on her.

And, of course, Loghain.

Oh, Maker. Loghain.

His face. He'd looked tired, as though he'd not had enough sleep in far too many days, but even so, he was still so handsome. And so warm, when he'd held her. It had been so good to see him again. So very good. Just having his solid presence at her side had felt so safe, so _right_.

It had felt so good to cry, and, Maker help her, it felt so good to be in his arms. To feel his voice resonate through her body. To have his skin warm beneath her fingertips, even for just a moment. To feel his heat through his linen shirt, and breathe in his scent.

She sat on the low wall that ran along the edge of the bridge. When he'd held her in his arms, she had wanted to stay there forever. He'd been so gentle with her, so kind, and thankfully he hadn't pushed her away.

In spite of his kindness, though, she wasn't sure what he felt for her now. Just because he hadn't pushed her away didn't mean he wanted her. She was grateful for what he had given her, so grateful. She'd needed to cry, needed it desperately, and she'd needed to share it with someone she trusted.

It came as something of a blow to realize that she did, indeed, still trust Loghain. After everything, after all this time, even knowing he hadn't really loved her, she trusted him.

Heat rose up behind her eyes, and her vision blurred.

Loghain had been friendly, had welcomed her into his tent and held her while she cried, but there was no reason to think he wanted more than that. She mustn't read more into it than had been there. In truth, it hadn't seemed as though he wanted her at all, not _that_ way.

She forced back a sob. Because, regardless of Loghain's feelings, she still wanted him. She had wanted to fall into his arms, to press her lips to his. To beg him to make love to her. She had wanted so much to kiss him, and for a moment she thought it would happen. They had looked at one another, and it felt so familiar, like it had felt when she believed he was in love with her.

But then his brow creased, and his eyes had grown dark with something she couldn't decipher. Was it confusion? Or pity, perhaps.

One thing had been clear: whatever he felt, it was not desire.

Thank the Maker for that guard, who had interrupted before she embarrassed herself by trying to kiss Loghain, and having him push her away. She could barely imagine how much worse she would feel right now if she'd thrown herself at him only to be rejected.

She stared down into the gorge until her breathing had returned to normal, and she felt something close to calm.

Even now, even knowing that he didn't want her, she wanted to go back to him. To go back to his tent. She would have been happy just to sit with him, to lean against his body and feel his arm around her shoulder again. To allow her breath to fall into the pattern of his. Perhaps to fall asleep beside him.

She stood, and strode to the other side of the bridge, annoyed with herself. She was being foolish. This wasn't a garden party; they were at war. Loghain had better things to do than coddle Rhianna through these ridiculous feelings. And she needed to move on, to find a way to stop relying on him for comfort.

Going to see him had been the right thing to do. It truly had. Seeing him, being close to him, had been . . . wonderful. But if she'd thought it would bring her any closure - one way or another - she'd been sadly mistaken. If anything, she felt more anxious than before. He'd been kind and friendly. He hadn't pushed her away. But neither had he reached for her except to comfort her, as anyone would do for a friend. Nor had he said a word about what had passed between them last year.

_I'm sure we'll see one another again soon._

Did that mean he wanted to see her again? Or was it merely an acknowledgement that surely, their paths would cross while they were both here at Ostagar? And was there any chance that the two of them would _mean_ something to one another again?

As the last colors of the sunset faded, a gleam of white feathers caught Rhianna's eye, and she raised her arm so Gwyn could land on her gauntleted forearm. The hawk had made herself scarce on the journey to Ostagar; after she returned from delivering Rhianna's message to Fergus, Gwyn had chafed at the pace Rhianna and Duncan had set while they walked. So, the bird had explored on her own, only checking in with Rhianna occasionally. Now they had reached their destination, however, it seemed Gwyn was ready to settle down for a rest.

With the bird on her arm, Rhianna went back across the bridge, and returned to the bonfire. The Grey Warden camp was deserted except for Arcill, who still rested against the tree where he'd been when she'd left to speak with Loghain. His eyes were closed, and it was difficult to tell if he was asleep, or just resting.

Either way, she preferred not to disturb him, so she turned toward the tent she shared with Solona. Gwyn flew up and landed on a branch above the Avvar warrior's head.

"Rhianna?"

Apparently he wasn't asleep after all. "Hello, Arcill. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I wasn't asleep. I just don't have the energy to get up and explore. To be honest, I wouldn't mind some company." He paused. "Unless you were on your way to do something?"

"No, I was going to sit in my tent. I think I'm done wandering around camp for this evening." She sat on the ground beside him, and studied his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he admitted. "And a bit uncomfortable, as though my skin doesn't quite . . . fit the way it used to? I don't know if that makes any sense at all. But I can feel it - the taint, or whatever this is - I can feel it inside of me. Like it's crawling through my blood." He ran a hand through his hair. "But you don't need to hear about that."

"I don't mind, if it helps to talk about it. Unless you'd rather think about something else for a change?"

"Yes, I'd prefer that. I've been thinking about this most of the day."

"Then let's talk about something else."

"All right." He glanced up into the tree. "That's your hawk?"

"Yes. Her name is Gwyn."

"She's lovely. I haven't seen many birds with her coloration here in the lowlands, although we breed them like that in my Hold."

"Her coloration is the reason she lives with me, and the reason I found her in the first place. It was difficult for her to manage in the forests near Highever; she wasn't able to hide from the crows."

He looked up at the hawk again, and clicked his tongue. Gwyn opened her wings, and glided silently down to the arm he offered her, and allowed him to ruffle the feathers behind her neck.

Rhianna smiled. "She doesn't usually do that; she tends to be shy around people."

A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. "The place where I live is not called Falconhold for no reason."

"I suspect I would enjoy myself there," Rhianna said. "I've always had an affinity for birds, and other animals."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." He paused. "You also seem well acquainted with the king."

That was an interesting turn of thought. "Yes. I've known Cailan most of my life."

"Can he be trusted?"

Rhianna arched a brow at the bluntness of the question.

"I mean," Arcill added, "do you think he will be able to lead the armies to victory against the darkspawn?"

Oh. A question so similar to the one she had asked Loghain just a few short minutes before.

"Do I think will lead us to victory?" She glanced around to make certain no one was near to overhear the conversation. "No. Cailan will not be the one who leads us to victory. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir will do that. He's Cailan's general, and one of the best strategists in all of Thedas. As long as he leads the army, we'll beat the darkspawn. Of that I have no doubt."

Just speaking Loghain's name had caused her to tremble, and she dug her fingers into the grass and forced herself to breath slowly.

"Loghain Mac Tir. He is the one who won at River Dane, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. He is an honorable man, and a true warrior, by all accounts. Something I have never heard said of your king."

"_My_ king? Do you have so little respect for him that you do not even claim him as your own?"

"Respect?" Arcill shrugged. "I neither have neither respect nor disdain for him at present; I know too little of him. Either way, Cailan Theirin is not my king."

"Is Falconhold not within Ferelden's borders?"

"It is, but that doesn't mean we recognize your king's authority. He gives us nothing, we take nothing in return. This is how those of us who live in the mountains prefer it to be."

"Fair enough." She paused. "So, tell me about Falconhold?"

"As you wish. Let's see. Where do I begin?" He stretched his legs out and pulled his arm closer to his body, almost cradling Gwyn as he stroked her back. The birds eyes were closed, and she appeared to thoroughly enjoy the attention. "I am aware that Lowlanders say we only live in the mountains because we were forced there when the tribes were at war. But nothing could be further from the truth. The mountains are magnificent, and strong. They keep us safe and give us shelter. They provide us with food, and clothing. And nowhere on earth could possibly be as beautiful. The way the sun glistens on a snowcapped peak, as it stretches up into a deep blue sky. The colors on a rocky cliff face or the pebbles in a stream. Even storm clouds and lightning, as terrifying as they can be, are awesome to behold. Nothing is more beloved to my people than the mountains themselves. They are no consolation prize; we pity those of you who are forced to live where it is flat."

He caught her eye, and she chuckled. "You know, I grew up between the mountains and the sea, and I could never decide which one I prefer. I love sailing, and walking on the beach. But there is something about the mountains, as well, that is just so beautiful. Magnificent trees, and waterfalls." She smiled, more to herself than to Arcill. "My brother and I used to camp, and my very favorite place in all the world is up in the mountains: a lake with a small waterfall, where we used to swim."

A memory of Maric and Loghain came into her mind, but she pushed it away.

"The same brother who is out in the Wilds now?"

"Yes. I only have the one." _Please, Andraste. Please let him still be alive. "_Gwyn looks happy," Rhianna said, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of her brother.

"She and I, both," he replied. "Speaking of birds, would you like to hear a story about a bird? One of the stories my people tell?"

"I would like that very much." Anything to distract her from being barraged by memories. She stretched herself out on the ground, with her hands behind her head, and looked up at the sky.

"All right then." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Have you heard the story of the ptarmigan?"

"The ptarmigan?" Rhianna shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I've seen them a few times, high in the mountains. They're adorable, chubby little things. But I can't remember ever hearing a story about one."

He arched a brow. "You've seen ptarmigan? I can't imagine there are many lowlanders who can say the same. Not only do the birds live at high elevations, but they're skittish and shy around people."

"Like I said, I have an affinity with most creatures."

"You would get along well in Falconhold, I think." He looked up at the sky, as if to catch the thread of his story. "This is a story about how once, long ago when the world was very young, the mountains themselves had a heart. Do you know of Karth?"

"Isn't he the Mountain god? And the king of all your gods?"

"Yes, that's it exactly. Karth is the father of the mountains, and once upon a time he lived at the very top of the tallest mountain, and from there he could see everything that went on in the world below. He was happy for a time, but eventually, some of what he saw did not please him. He saw the strong become weak, and the brave become cowardly. He saw the wise turn foolish, and the kind become cruel. And he saw that all of this was for love. So many people betrayed by their hearts. He feared that some day the same would happen to him, so he devised a plan to prevent it.

"He took the heart from his body, and sealed it inside a cask made of gold, and then buried it deep in the earth where no one would ever think to look for it. Then, to protect it, he raised up the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen - the Frostbacks - and covered them with snow and ice. And all of this, to guard his heart. To keep it from being broken, and to keep from being led astray by it."

"I suppose I can see why he'd want to do that," Rhianna mused aloud. If she could remove her own heart right now, she would be sorely tempted to do so, if it meant things would stop hurting so much.

"Can you?" The older man regarded her calmly, but seemed not to expect an answer. "Indeed, this might have seemed like a perfect plan," Arcill continued after a moment, "but there was a problem: without his heart, the Mountain-Father became cruel and unhappy. The empty space in his chest filled with biting winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. All food on his tongue became tasteless, and music brought no pleasure to his ears. He found no happiness in deeds of valor or strength. Nothing at all could give him joy, and he became destructive, and sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men.

"Soon, both gods and men could no longer tolerate his cruelty, and they rose up against him. They called him a tyrant, and set out to end his reign, but it was impossible to slay a man without a heart, so any who tried to fight him died brutally. Soon there were no heroes left to challenge him. So the people of the earth called upon the Lady of the Skies."

"Oh, I've heard of her before. She appears in the form of a swan yes?"

"She does, indeed, and in the form of other birds as well. And, possessing a kind spirit, she took pity upon the people of the world and sent the best of her children – the birds - to scour the mountains for the missing heart. They searched for the heart - her swiftest, cleverest, and strongest children - for a year and a day, but none could find it. Not sparrow nor raven, not vulture nor eagle, not swift nor albatross were able to find the heart.

"When all seemed lost, the ptarmigan spoke up and offered to go looking. The rest of the birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is tiny and plump and flies poorly, spending most of its life hopping on the ground. The Lady refused to give her blessing to the little bird, fearing she would die in the attempt, but the ptarmigan set out anyway. Deep into the mountains she traveled. When the winds were too fierce for her to fly, she crawled on the ground. When the sun beat down harsh upon her head, she traveled at night. When the nights were too cold and threatened to freeze her solid, she buried herself in the snow to stay warm.

"In this way, she weathered the worst the mountain threw at her, and made her lonely way into the valley. There she could hear the beat of the heart just below the surface of the ground. She dug it out, but with all the terrible deeds that Karth had committed, the heart was now far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry. Instead, she rolled it inch by inch out of the valley and down a cliff. When the golden casket struck the earth below, it shattered, releasing the heart that was almost full to bursting.

"The Mountain-Father cried out in agony when he felt the pain of the casket shatter, and the heart leapt back into his chest, and once again he was whole. Quickly, before Karth could remove the heart again, Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Karth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so the heart could never again be removed.

"And with this, the Mountain-Father became a loving god once again, and ended the days of his tyranny. From that day forward, gods and men alike refer to the ptarmigan as the most honored among birds, even above the loftiest eagles."

Arcill fell silent, and Rhianna could feel his eyes on her.

"That's a lovely story. About a lovely bird. I can imagine the precious little thing, struggling to get through the snow." She pushed herself up into a seated position. "And I suppose the moral of the story is that life is not worth living without one's heart?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"I wish I could believe that," she murmured. She was a bit surprised that she'd said it aloud, even though it was true. "Sometimes things just hurt so much."

"Indeed they do. And it's all right not to believe. Sometimes, it's enough to just keep putting one foot in front of the other."

She glanced at him. His expression was somber, but his eye were filled with kindness.

"You are Andrastian?" he asked.

"Yes. Although, to be honest, some of the things that have happened lately have tested my faith."

"Again, sometimes it's all right not to believe." He paused. "You may not know this, but the Avvar believe that the gods are with us at all times. Not far away, not up in the sky somewhere. We believe the gods are here with us, in all things. In the rocks, and the trees, in the music of the stream as it rushes down the mountain. They speak to us, always, and all we have to do is learn how to listen." He chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. "Perhaps this sounds foolish to you."

"No," she said truthfully. "It doesn't sound foolish at all." In truth, it sounded comforting. Much nicer to think the gods were nearby, and cared, than to consider the Maker, who had turned his back on the world.

"Good." He relaxed back against the tree again, and Gwyn ruffled her feathers as she resettled herself on his arm. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" She was confused. If anything, she should thank him for the story. "For what?"

"For what you said earlier, to Duncan. That you'll bring back the blood I need for this ritual of theirs."

"Oh. I'd hoped you hadn't heard any of that." She paused. "But you're welcome. You're more than welcome."

"Right now, I'm not sure I believe in this 'cure' they keep telling me about."

She studied his face. The lines were etched more deeply than they had been even earlier in the day, and his skin looked ashy and grey. The taint was quickly taking its toll.

"Sometimes, it's all right not to believe." She reached over and took his hand in her own. "I'll do my best to believe hard enough for the both of us."

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Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, Amanda Kitswell, and to all my lovely reviewers: DjinniGenie, Kateskate24, Skidney, Tyrannosaurustex, SwomeeSwan, KrystylSky, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and a Guest.

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	12. A brave promise to make

_**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Korcari Wilds**__**  
**_

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As soon as the sun was up, Alistair led the Warden recruits out of the king's camp, and into the Korcari Wilds. Just a few minutes after they'd passed through the gates, the terrain began to change, until they were in something that could only be called a swamp. There were still raised patches of dry ground wide enough to walk upon, but there was now more water than there was land in many places, and a stagnant odor hung in the air.

There was something different about this place, too, different from anywhere else Rhianna had ever been, and the farther south they traveled, the more noticeable it became. It wasn't just the terrain, or trees and flowers that were different from the ones she was familiar with back home. It was something about the forest itself. The colors were too bright, and almost unnatural, and the quality of the light was strange and harsh, even as it barely reached through the tree canopy. And there was a feeling that grew inside her, like an itch she didn't know how to scratch. It was almost as though the forest was aware of her presence, and disapproved. It made her want to turn around, and hurry back to the safety of the king's camp, and this, more than anything, disturbed her. Never before had she felt uncomfortable like this in the wilderness, and it wasn't right. It wasn't the Wilds themselves that were unfriendly, but something else.

It didn't help that the wildlife nearby was agitated, both from hunger and the presence of the darkspawn nearby. Rhianna felt a barrage of anxious presences that pressed against her mind – foxes and squirrels, turtles and frogs, deer and owls and those songbirds who had not already fled the approaching winter. The whole balance of the forest had shifted, and the animals were suffering for it. Only the ravens, whose rattling calls echoes through the trees, seemed not to be on edge.

There were wolves here, as well, that skulked along the edges of the tree line, torn between their desire to flee and an almost insatiable urge to attack these humans who had entered the forest. Not out of disapproval; the wolves were merely starving.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who noticed their presence. "There are wolves prowling around in those trees," Daveth said, as he reached for his bow. "I'll wager they're hungry."

"We don't need to worry about the wolves," Rhianna said. "They'll keep their distance." No matter how hungry they were, Rhianna's gentle voice in their minds urged them not to attack. This was for their own good; the wolves could never have withstood the swords and arrows and spells they would have gotten in return.

"That's not what Duncan said," Alistair replied. "He warned me that other scouts have reported being attacked by wolves."

Oh, that's right. Alistair, and the others – except Solona – had no idea why Rhianna was so certain they weren't in any danger, and she wasn't in the mood to explain just now. "I only meant that with Dane here, they're not likely to bother us."

Sure enough, the wolves kept their distance, and after a few minutes, with a cheerful glance at Rhianna, Daveth strapped the bow to his back once again.

As they walked, her mind turned to the previous day. Mostly, to her visit with Loghain. The anxiety she'd felt immediately after she'd left his tent had faded, thankfully, and now she just felt . . . empty, but in a good way. As though talking to him, and crying, had drained away the worst of her anguish. She felt rather fragile, as though this tentative calm could be shattered at any time, but for the moment she felt more at peace than she'd felt since leaving Highever.

It was curious, though, that Loghain hadn't received her father's letter. Probably, this meant he knew nothing about Cailan's intention to marry Celene. Not that it mattered just now; surely, that whole situation could wait until after the darkspawn were defeated.

That seemed to be a recurring theme: everything else was on hold until the darkspawn could be defeated.

Which was fine, really. It's not as though Rhianna had anywhere else to go.

‹›‹O›‹›

About an hour out of the camp, they came upon the site of a recent battle. Both darkspawn and humans lie dead on the ground, along with a cow that was barely recognizable as such, so covered was it in blood and gore. There were dark patches on the ground as well, where blood had spilled, only it looked . . . wrong. Thin tendrils of corruption snaked into the grass, reminiscent of the pattern on the face of the dead man she and Loghain had found that day in the Bannorn, almost a year ago.

Darkspawn taint. Perhaps that's what had her so on edge.

She peered down at the nearest prone body, which was clad in scale mail. Clearly, these dead men were soldiers.

A scouting party perhaps . . .

_Oh, Blessed Andraste. Please, please, please let this not be Fergus' party._

She looked more closely at the man's face; thankfully, it was unfamiliar to her. Before she could move to the next body, she saw movement ahead. One of the soldiers wasn't dead.

She hurried to the man's side, and knelt close as he pushed himself up to look first at Rhianna, and then at Alistair, who had come up behind her.

"Who . . . is that?" he groaned. "Grey . . . Wardens?"

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair quipped.

Rhianna shot him an annoyed glance, and shook her head. Had he really just made a joke at the expense of a severely wounded man?

"What happened?" She turned back to the man, her hands gentle as she helped him to sit up. He was badly injured, but probably not fatally so.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," he replied. They just . . . they just came right up out of the ground. I know it sounds mad, but they did. Right out of the ground." His shoulders slumped, and he reached out and steadied himself with a hand on Rhianna's arm.

Her stomach lurched. "You were scouting? With whom? Were you with Fergus Cousland?"

"Lord Cousland? He was leading a group of men from Highever?"

"Yes."

"No, ser, I wasn't with him."

Rhianna let out the breath she'd been holding. There was no danger of turning over one of these bodies and seeing her brother's face.

_Thank you, Andraste._

"We did see them though, yesterday," the man continued. "Or maybe it was the day before? It was only a few hours before we were attacked, but I'm not certain when that happened. I think I was . . . knocked out, for Maker knows how long."

"Do you know which direction they were going?"

"I don't know exactly, just that they were heading further south as we were on our way back to camp." He pointed down one of the trails that converged nearby. "It was down that way where we saw them. Please," he added, "help me. I've got to return to camp."

"We will. You're not far at all from Ostagar."

"I have bandages in my pack," Alistair offered, sounding somewhat contrite. "We can do what we can for his wounds."

"There's a healing spell I can use on him, as well," Solona added.

When they'd done what they could for the man, Rhianna offered to escort him back to Ostagar, but he waved her away. "Thank you, for everything, ser, but I reckon I can make it back on my own," he said, and headed off toward the city.

Rhianna wasn't sure if she felt better now, or worse. Fergus had been seen alive, not long ago. But clearly, being part of a scouting party - there were half a dozen dead soldiers here - hadn't been protection enough against the darkspawn, at least not for these men.

She wasn't the only one who felt unsettled.

"Did you hear what he said?" Jory's voice was loud, and higher pitched than usual. "An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair soothed. "We'll be fine as long as we're careful."

"Those soldiers were careful." Jory sounded anything but calm. "And they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the five of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about, yes," Alistair replied, "but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde."

"How do you know?" Jory insisted. He glanced to the north, the way the wounded soldier had gone. "I'm no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

"You sound like a coward to me," Solona said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"How dare you?" he sputtered.

"You do realize," Rhianna interjected, "that being a Grey Warden is all about killing darkspawn, right? How, exactly, do you expect to be a Warden if you are ready to turn tail and run at the first sign of them? Anyway, we've got a job to do here, as per Duncan's request. Yes, those men were killed. Which makes it all the more important for us to be out here, doing what we do."

"I'm not interested in your opinion, _Lady_ Cousland," he spat. "We all know why you're here, and don't pretend it has anything to do with your duty as a Grey Warden. You want to find your brother, who is probably already dead, and you don't care if the rest of us get killed while you look for him."

His words - "probably already dead" - hit like a punch in the gut.

"That's enough," Alistair said, before Rhianna could think of a response. He turned to Jory. "Know this: all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here. I'll sense their approach long before they see us, and we'll have plenty of time to prepare for an attack, or retreat if there are too many of them for us to face."

"You see ser knight?" Daveth said cheerfully. "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

Jory shot Daveth an angry look. "It just seems as though there should be more of us out here. Surely, with as many soldiers as are at Ostagar, we could have found some guards to accompany us."

"We'll be fine," Alistair said firmly. "Now, let's get a move on."

As Alistair knelt to put the bandages back in his pack, Rhianna called Dane and Gwyn to her side. She knew Alistair wouldn't agree for Rhianna to go with them, but her animals weren't bound by the Grey Wardens or any sort of oath, and could cover a great deal more ground on their own.

_Follow the path the scout indicated, and see if you can find any sign of Fergus. And whatever you do, stay together._

She wasn't overly worried about Dane - he was more than capable of taking care of himself. But those flocks of ravens could overcome Gwyn if she wasn't careful. As long as they kept close, Dane would keep Gwyn safe.

The hound and hawk were both were eager to search, not only in the hope they would find their mistress' beloved brother, but also for the chance to stretch their legs and wings.

"That's your hawk?" Daveth asked, as they watched the two animals disappear into the gloomy woods.

Oh, of course. Daveth and Jory hadn't seen Gwyn before; she'd only arrived late in the day.

"Yes. She's been my companion for a couple of years now."

"A hawk and a hound?" Jory scoffed. "What next? I expect you have a horse hidden around here somewhere, as well?"

"No, actually," Rhianna murmured. "He was left behind in Highever." Maker's balls. She really didn't need to be reminded of Faolan right now, on top of everything else.

Alistair pulled out a rather crudely hand-drawn map, and Rhianna leaned close to get a good look a it. "This," Alistair pointed at a mark on the map, "is where Duncan believes the treaties are located, at what was once a Grey Warden outpost." He turned it ninety degrees, and then ninety degrees again. "But I'm not entirely sure where we are right now."

Rhianna eased the map from his hands. She looked up to orient herself with what could be seen of the sun, and then stood so Ostagar was behind her. "We're right about here," she pointed. "And it looks like the cache is in this direction, to the southeast."

Alistair was happy to trust her sense of direction, and they took off down a different path than the one Dane and Gwyn had traveled. Rhianna wasn't concerned; her hound would find her, no matter where she went.

A very few minutes later, they stumbled upon a gruesome sight: a fallen tree spanned two sides of a small gorge, and three men had been hung from it by their necks. They did not appear to be injured in any other way, but they were most assuredly dead.

"Poor slobs." Alistair shook his head. "That just seems . . . excessive."

"The work of the darkspawn?" Jory asked.

"Darkspawn, or Chasind - could be either," Daveth replied. "The Wilds have never been particularly safe, even before the Blight. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's probably the darkspawn. I expect the Chasind aren't hanging around here just now; they're smart enough to have made themselves scarce."

"Let's go around the other way," Alistair suggested, and rather than staying on the path that would take them beneath the bodies, he led the way around the north side of the hill. Before she followed the others, Rhianna stepped close enough to be certain Fergus was not one of the dead men.

As they rounded the curve of the hill, a low growling sounded close by. As she looked around to locate the source of the sound, a darkspawn appeared directly in front of her. It was one of the small ones - genlocks, Duncan had called them - and before she could draw her weapons, it charged.

She dodged out of the way, pulling her sword and dagger as she went. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that others had emerged as well, as if they had erupted right out of the ground beneath their feet, just as the wounded scout had claimed. Soon, the entire company was doing battle.

Rhianna parried a blow of the creature's mace, and had her own attack shield-blocked in return. She feinted to draw another attack, and used the opening to get in and stick her dagger in the creature's side. Another set of blows and parries, and she whirled around and decapitated the thing. As it fell to the ground, she ran at a hurlock that was moving toward Solona. Rhianna's attack did little damage, but distracted the thing long enough for Solona to send bolts of lightning from her fingertips. The hurlock was knocked backwards, and Rhianna easily finished it off with a blade to the throat.

She looked around. There were no darkspawn still on their feet, and a total of five dead on the ground.

Jory turned to Alistair. "Didn't you say we'd have some warning before they attacked?" For once, the man had a good point.

Alistair hesitated. "I can sense the darkspawn," he began, "but I think perhaps there are so many in the general area that I couldn't sense those few close by?"

Not a very reassuring answer, but as Jory took a breath to respond – probably to demand they return to the camp - Rhianna wasn't in the mood to stand here and argue the point.

"I don't see how it matters," she said. "There were only a few, and they were easy enough to kill. Let's collect the blood we need, and continue toward the old Warden cache."

Thankfully, no one argued, and they made their way in what seemed a southwesterly direction, although it was a bit of a challenge navigating the swampy terrain.

Another group of darkspawn appeared, and these were just as easily defeated as the others had been.

As they wiped their blades free of the black, sticky blood, Dane appeared with Gwyn close behind. The hound carried something in his mouth.

Her heart racing, Rhianna knelt beside him, and he dropped a metal medallion into her open palm.

"Maker," she breathed. The round pendant was cast in silver, and bore the Alamarri rune for "strength."

Fergus' name meant "strength."

Almost before the fear could settle in her stomach, Dane showed her what he had seen: the pendant lying in the middle of a dirt path, with bodies nearby, but Fergus was not among them.

"Rhianna?" Solona rested a hand on Rhianna's shoulder. "What did he find?"

She held the pendant up for the others to see. "This belongs to my brother. His wife gave it to him on Satinalia a few years ago."

With a beaming smile, Solona rubbed the back of Dane's neck. "Good job, boy!" She looked up at the hawk, who had settled herself in a tree just overhead. "And you as well, Gwyn." She looked directly into the hound's eyes. "Will you show us where you found this?" She looked up at Alistair. "That's all right, isn't it? Surely it can't be far."

"Yes, that's all right," Alistair replied.

Rhianna flashed a grateful glance at her friend.

Daveth offered Rhianna a hand as she got back to her feet. "Let's hope for the best!"

Jory grumbled something about having seen enough of the Wilds, and wanting to find the treaties and be done, but no one seemed to pay any attention as they followed Dane as he headed nearly due south.

Soon, they came to a clearing that contained some very strange arches. Probably originally part of a ruined building, they were now free standing, and appeared to save been decorated with . . . well, it was difficult to tell exactly what had been hung on the arches.

Whatever it was, they were shaped like the rib bones of an almost unbelievably large creature - a dragon, perhaps. The bones, if indeed they were bones, were wrapped with leather and attached to the columns to form a round arc. Had the Chasind put these here? Or was it the darkspawn?

Two corpses hung from the arches; Rhianna guessed that meant it had been the darkspawn.

Dane turned to the east now, and more ruins appeared in the distance. These looked Tevinter in origin, and were in the process of being reclaimed by the swamp.

As they approached a low wooden bridge, a flash of green light flew toward Rhianna. Before she could react, pain exploded across her left shoulder and she was knocked backward a step. The attack had come from the far side of the bridge, where a hurlock stood, staff in hand.

Rhianna drew her bow and moved to the side of the path, to take cover behind a fragment of old wall. With a loud _crack_, a burst of lightning flew through the air, as Solona cast a spell at the darkspawn magic user. Rhianna began to fire arrows at the hurlock, as the three men charged across the bridge.

She managed to get two shots off, but before she could fire a third, a pair of genlocks materialized directly in front of her.

"Maker's _balls!_" she swore as she dropped her bow and unsheathed her sword. A third darkspawn had appeared near Solona, so Rhianna sidestepped until she was between all three of the darkspawn and her friend. Dane leapt at one of the genlocks and sank his teeth into its throat as Rhianna clashed swords with another. A wave of heat rushed by as Solona cast a flame spell.

Rhianna parried a blow, but before she could recover from the parry, yet another darkspawn appeared. It slashed down at her with its sword, and she couldn't quite get out of the way as the tip of the blade tore into her upper arm. Ignoring the pain, she spun around and ran her longsword into the belly of the creature who had attacked. It fell, and she pulled her sword from its still twitching body, and turned to slash at another. She leapt out of the way of an attack, and Solona felled one of the darkspawn with another lightning spell.

Only one of the creatures remained standing, and it was quickly dispatched by Rhianna and Dane working in tandem.

On the far side of the bridge, the three men fought an even larger group of darkspawn. They appeared to have felled the magic user, but at least four others had appeared. Rhianna retrieved her bow, and, side by side, she and Solona sent spells and arrows through the air to assist their companions.

In a matter of minutes, all the darkspawn were bleeding onto the dirt.

Solona put a hand on Rhianna's shoulder. "You're injured," she said matter-of-factly, and then murmured soft words. An ethereal sphere of bluish light appeared beneath her hand, and she directed it at the wound on Rhianna's arm. Tendrils of light wound their way around the arm, and the pain vanished as Rhianna's skin knit back together.

"Thank you," Rhianna said. "And what about you? Are you all right?" To be honest, Solona seemed remarkably calm, for someone who'd lived her whole life locked away in a tower.

"I'm fine." As if she'd divined Rhianna's unspoken thoughts, she added, "I had to fight my way through my Harrowing. I don't suppose darkspawn are much scarier than the demons I faced in the Fade."

The two women crossed the bridge to rejoin their companions, just as another band of darkspawn attacked from a small clearing to the south.

With all four of the recruits and their escort working together, the darkspawn were vanquished quickly. Finally, Rhianna had a chance to survey the area.

There was carnage here unrelated to the battle Rhianna and her companions had just fought. In addition to the newly dead darkspawn, several dead soldiers lie on the ground. Not all the dead men had been left intact where they lay; one had been decapitated, and his helmeted head stuck on a wooden stake, and another impaled against the base of a stone statue.

Her stomach lurched; all of them wore Highever tunics and shields.

"This . . . this is Fergus' scouting party," she managed, as panic bloomed in her chest.

_Please, no. Please, Andraste. Please let Fergus have survived. Please._

Dane appeared at her side, and pushed his nose into her hand as he reminded her that Fergus was not among these dead men; he'd checked when he first found them.

She knelt beside one of the bodies, and gasped softly when she saw his face.

"I know him." Jory's voice, just behind her. "I know that man," he repeated. "His name is Harold. He had a wife and daughter back in Highever."

Rhianna looked up at him. "Yes, I knew him, too."

She stood, but when she moved toward another body, Jory put a hand on her arm. "Lady Cousland," he began. "I mean, Rhianna." He paused. "You don't have to do this. I . . . I know what your brother looks like. Let me . . . check. The bodies."

Rhianna blinked. "Thank you." She shook her head. "That's not necessary, though; Dane's already confirmed that Fergus isn't here. But thank you, Jory. Thank you for offering. That was kind of you." She gave him a smile, the first genuine smile she'd had for the man since they'd met, and he nodded in return.

She turned away as tears formed behind her eyes, both from grief - she'd known all of these men - and also at the thought that her brother could so easily have been among them. An almost overwhelming wave of fear hit her – what if he had already met a similar fate somewhere nearby, and they just hadn't found him yet? What if Fergus was dead, just like these soldiers?

Solona rested a hand on Rhianna's shoulder.

Rhianna turned toward her friend, barely fighting back her tears. "I'm so scared," she whispered.

"I know," Solona replied. "I'm scared, too. But he's not here. That means there's a chance he's still alive."

Dane huffed at her, and trotted to the middle of the path. He sat, and she caught from his mind that this was the place he had found Fergus' pendant. But if the pendant was here, where was Fergus?

"Follow his scent, boy," Rhianna urged, and the hound ran off to the east.

Rhianna ran after him, with Solona close behind; Rhianna had no idea if the others had followed. Dane went only a short distance before he stopped at the water's edge. The water here appeared deeper than most of the pools they had passed thus far. It stretched out to the south, and curved out of view, so it was impossible to tell just how far this particular channel might lead.

Dane sat on his haunches, and his meaning was clear: Fergus' scent ended here.

But why? What did that mean? Did he swim into the lake to get away from the darkspawn? In the muddy ground at the water's edge, there were footprints. More footprints than were likely to be made by a single man. But were they human, or darkspawn?

Then she saw something that made her heart leap. A triangular depression in the mud, as if a small boat had been dragged ashore here.

A boat. Had Fergus escaped by boat?

Was it possible had could have found a boat that had been abandoned? Or was it not abandoned at all? Perhaps Fergus had help in getting away. But from whom? The Chasind? That might explain the other footprints.

Rhianna stared out across the water, and Gwyn flew down and landed on her arm. The bird had flown out over the water as far as she dared with so many ravens about, and hadn't reached the end of the lake. Nor had she seen a boat, or any sign of Fergus, or other people.

Of course, the presence of a boat didn't mean that Fergus was alive, nor did the absence of a body. That mark could have been here Maker knows how long. And even if Fergus had gotten away, what if he were wounded, and died from his injuries? Or what if he'd been taken by the Chasind only to suffer some equally dire fate at their hands?

No.

No. Fergus wasn't dead. He wasn't. He _couldn't_ be dead. She needed him. She needed to know she would see him again, hear his beloved voice, feel the warmth of his embrace.

A gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is this where the trail ends?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. But look." She pointed to the ground. "There was a boat. Perhaps Fergus escaped on it."

Alistair knelt and examined the impression in the mud, then looked out over the water, much as Rhianna had done. "Perhaps he did. I hope that's what happened." He stood again. "But right now, we have no boat of our own, and no way of following him. And," he glanced up at the sky," the day's half gone. We still need to find the Warden cache, and return to camp before night falls. We can't risk being caught out in the Wilds after dark."

He was right. Of course he was right, but the thought of walking away, of just leaving the Wilds without knowing where Fergus had gone, made her sick to her stomach.

"Listen." He tugged gently at her shoulder so she would turn to catch his gaze. "We need to go now, but I'll return here with you, as soon as we're able. As soon as the darkspawn are defeated, we'll come back here together, and I'll help you look for him. I promise."

He held her gaze, and it was clear that he meant what he had said. They weren't just kind words; he really would return, and help her look for Fergus.

"And you know I'll help, as well," Solona added.

"All right," she agreed. "And thank you. Both of you."

"Of course. Before we go," Alistair said, "let's build a marker so we can find this spot again."

"Yes. And we need to do something with the bodies of the scouts," Rhianna added. "We can't just leave them like that. We don't have time to build proper pyres, but we can lay them out for the wolves, at least. That's better than leaving them to rot in the sun."

With that, Rhianna could no longer stop the tears from falling. Solona pulled her into an embrace, and Rhianna clung to her gratefully, and cried. For Fergus, for her parents, for the soldiers who had died here. For Oriana and Oren.

And, not least of all, for herself.

‹›‹O›‹›

When a cairn had been built to mark the spot, and the bodies stripped and laid in respectful rows, Alistair led the way to the east, in what they believed was the direction of the Warden cache. As they traveled, they encountered more groups of darkspawn, including one particularly nasty bunch with another magic user, but working together, the five companions had little trouble killing them quickly.

Finally, they arrived at the ruin of an ancient building.

"This looks like it," Alistair said, as they passed beneath what was left of the columns and arches that had once enclosed the building's courtyard. While parts of the outer walls were in fairly good shape, along with a set of stairs up to what had once been the main entrance, the building itself had collapsed.

Fortunately, a large metal chest sat to one side of the steps.

"Do you suppose that's the cache?" Daveth said hopefully.

"If we're lucky, it is," Alistair replied. "I hope so, anyway, since anything left inside the building is most likely buried forever."

He walked up to the chest, and pulled it open. The lid opened easily, with a faint creak and a whiff of stale air.

"Damn," Alistair swore under his breath. "I guess we're not that lucky."

Inside the chest was nothing but a layer of old dust. No sign of scrolls, or anything else.

"Well, well, well." An unfamiliar voice rang through the air. "What have we here?"

Rhianna whirled around to see a woman at the top of the steps.

Before anyone could respond, the woman continued, "Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

The woman was young, not much past thirty, if that, and she had dark hair and full lips, and her eyes were an unusual amber color. She wore a most unusual assortment of clothes: a skirt made of strips of black leather that hung just past her knees, black boots, and a sort of halter that didn't cover much of her upper body. One of her arms was entirely covered by a feathered sleeve that went all the way down to her wrist, while her other arm was bare.

A staff was strapped to her back; the woman was a mage.

"What say you, hmm?" She tilted her head to one side, as a wry smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Scavengers or intruders?"

"We are neither." Alistair's voice was slightly higher-pitched than usual. "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

"Grey Wardens? It has been quite some time since that name has been invoked here. I fear it means nothing now." She descended the steps slowly, deliberately, one at a time. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?'" Her voice was smooth, and soothing.

"Don't answer her," Alistair warned. "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she said almost gleefully, with a sweep of her arms.

"Yes." Alistair's eyes narrowed and he wrinkled his nose. "Swooping . . . is . . . bad."

"She's no barbarian," Daveth whispered loudly. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" Morrigan sounded amused. "Such idle fancies, these legends. Have you no minds of your own?" She turned to Solona. "You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"I'm Solona. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman lifted a brow, but her smile looked genuine. "Now, that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." She gave a nod of her head, in greeting. "Shall I guess your purpose? You came here seeking something in that chest. Something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?'" Alistair brought his hands to his hips. "You stole them, didn't you? You're . . . some kind of . . . sneaky . . . witch-thief!"

"Alistair!" Rhianna shot him a glance she hoped would silence him. There was no call for accusing this woman of anything. She'd done nothing to threaten them.

Before Rhianna could say as much, Morrigan spoke again. "How very eloquent. I hope you are not the leader of this group based solely on your superior intelligence." She gave a pained sigh. "I do have one question, however: how does one steal from dead men?"

"What?" Alistair's brow furrowed deeply.

"The contents of that chest were put there many years ago," she explained. "A great many years. I ask again: how does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems." Alistair countered. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not." She paused. "For 'twas not I who removed them."

Alistair opened his mouth to reply, but Rhianna cut him off. "Does that mean you know who _did_ removed them, then? It would be a great help, if that were the case."

"Oh, now there's something new. A reasonable question. You wish to know who removed your papers? I'll be happy to tell you. It was never meant to be a secret. 'Twas my mother who did the deed."

"Your_ mothe_r?" Alistair sounded incredulous. "Is that some sort of a joke?"

"If so," Solona quipped, glancing at Alistair with an expression that almost certainly mirrored Rhianna's own, "it seems the truthful rather than funny sort of joke, no?"

"Great!" Alistair shifted his weight to the other leg. "So she's a sneaky, thieving, weird-talking, _funny_ sort of witch."

"Oh, Maker's balls," Rhianna swore. She turned her back on Alistair, and addressed Morrigan directly. "Please excuse my companion." She let out a breath. "You said your mother took the documents? Does she still have them? And if so, would you be willing to take us to see her?"

"Ah. There is a sensible request." Morrigan smiled. "I think I like you."

"We can't trust her," Alistair insisted. "First it's 'I like you,' but then, ZAP, frog time!"

Rhianna turned to Alistair. "Weren't you trained as a templar?"

"Yes."

"Then we have nothing to fear, right? Can't you do something to keep her from turning us into frogs?" She paused. "Well, I suppose she might be able to manage one frog, but so long as you're not the first, you can keep her from frog-ifying everyone else, yes?" Rhianna turned to Morrigan. "If it's not too much trouble, if you do decide someone needs to be turned into a frog, please start with me."

Morrigan gave a hearty laugh. "You have my word. You'll be the first."

"There." Rhianna turned back to Alistair. "Are you satisfied now? There's nothing to worry about. I trust that if I'm turned into a frog you'll find some way to change me back."

"That's . . . that's not the point."

"I agree with the templar," Daveth said nervously. "She's a witch. She'll put us all in the pot she will, just you watch."

"If the pot's warmer than this forest," Jory said, "it would be a nice change."

"I do not meet many people here," Morrigan said in a conversational tone. "Especially people from the north. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"Not all of us." Solona gave Alistair another scathing glance. "Only the ones who are afraid of magic. Would you take us to see your mother, please?" She glanced at Rhianna. "The two of us, at least. The men can stay behind if they like."

"I'll be more than happy to take you to my mother. All of you, or some. Just follow me, if it pleases you."

Without waiting for any of them to reply, Morrigan turned and walked through a hedge onto a path that Rhianna hadn't noticed before. Solona followed, with Rhianna right behind, and after only a brief hesitation, the three men followed, as well.

Morrigan led them across a long hanging bridge that spanned a deep gorge, and down the hill. The path they took through the swamp twisted and turned so many times that, even with Rhianna's good sense of direction, she feared she wouldn't be able to find her way back without help, although surely Dane would have no such trouble. Even the trees and the rocks looked the same, almost as if they were walking in circles and passing the same places time and time again.

Finally, Morrigan led them up a slight rise where signs of habitation could be seen: a path lit with torches, a headless statue, and a ruined column with part of an arch still attached to the top. Just beyond was the strangest hut Rhianna had ever seen, and this seemed to be their destination. One wall of the ramshackle wooden structure was a section of an ancient ruin, and the entire structure leaned slightly to one side.

An old woman stood just outside the hut. She was thin, with grey hair that hung down to her shoulders. There were dark smudges beneath eyes the same amber color as her daughter's, and her gown was faded, and looked to have been patched time and time again. She had been a beauty once, though, and might still be handsome if not for the gauntness of her cheeks.

"Greetings, Mother." Morrigan said as she led the companions toward the hut. "I bring before you five Grey Wardens who-"

"I see them girl," the woman barked, and then glanced at the faces of those gathered before her. Her eyes fell on Rhianna last, and lingered. "Mmm. Much as I expected."

"Expected? Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair sounded petulant, but somewhat less sure of himself than he had when they'd first encountered the daughter.

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe," the woman retorted. "Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide . . . either way, one's a fool." She laughed then, an uncomfortable sound that held little humor.

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth's voice was hoarse. "We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"You think I'm a Witch of the Wilds, eh?" She chuckled. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon." She clapped her hands together and threw her head back in hearty laughter.

"Quiet, Daveth!" Jory warned. "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"Now there is a smart lad," the woman chuckled, but then her smile faded. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will." She turned to Rhianna. "And what of you? Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I'm not sure what to believe," Rhianna answered truthfully. Meeting these women out here, in the middle of this hostile wilderness, was unusual, certainly. But for all that Alistair and Daveth seemed convinced Morrigan and her mother were dangerous witches, so far the two women had done nothing to suggest they meant anyone harm.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies," the woman replied, with a tilt of her head. "Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." More laughter; she seemed to find her own commentary very amusing. Or perhaps it was just that she didn't get many visitors all the way out here.

"So much about you is uncertain." The woman regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes. "And yet . . . I believe." Her eyes widened. "Do I?" She chuckled. "Why yes, it seems I do!"

Before Rhianna could figure out what on earth the woman was talking about, Morrigan interrupted. "They did not come to listen to you ramble, Mother."

"True. They came for their treaties, yes?" She held up a hand, and turned her gaze to Alistair. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." She pulled a handful of tightly rolled parchments from her pocket. "I have protected these for the past many years."

"You-" Alistair's face turned red. "You . . . oh. You protected them?"

"And why not? They would have been ruined had I left them in that chest, and they took up only a small amount of space in a drawer. It cost me nothing, and may make a great difference to you." She raised a brow. "Sooner than you think." She offered the parchments to Alistair, but as he reached for them, she pulled them away. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize." Now, she allowed Alistair to take the parchments from her. Once he had them in hand, he backed away, quickly.

"The threat is greater than they realize?" Rhianna asked. "What do you mean? And how is it you know all this?"

"What makes you think I know anything at all? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments." She threw her head back again, and laughed uproariously. Perhaps she wasn't merely lonely, but mad, as well. Abruptly, she stopped laughing. "Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for; that's good enough for now."

"Time for all of you to go, then." Morrigan stood straight, her chin held high.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests!" the old woman scolded.

"Oh, very well." Morrigan let out a breath, and her shoulders drooped. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

But as Morrigan began to walk way from the hut, and the others followed, Rhianna turned to the old woman once again.

"Ah ha!" The woman spoke before Rhianna had a chance. "I had wondered when it would occur to you to ask."

Rhianna's stomach felt hollow. "You know what I am going to ask?"

She was hit with a certainty that yes, this woman knew exactly what Rhianna was going to ask, although it seemed impossible. Mad or not, there was something . . . unusual about Morrigan's mother.

"Well, I have a guess. But that's not much fun for you, is it? Besides, it's possible I'm wrong." A cackle rang throughout the clearing. "So I shall pretend I don't know, and allow you to ask." Morrigan's mother tilted her head, and gave Rhianna her rapt attention.

"My brother was scouting in the Wilds, so I asked my hound to track him. We found the rest of the scouting party, all dead, but no sign of Fergus. I think he may have gotten away, perhaps on a boat across the lake. Perhaps with help. I wonder . . . have you heard anything that might help me find him? Or can you suggest anywhere he might have gone?"

For the first time, the woman's expression softened. "I am sorry, my girl, but I cannot tell you what you wish to know." She sounded genuinely regretful. "I have heard no word of your brother as yet. I might, however, be able to gather information about him. I do have ways of finding out some of what happens in the Wilds, and even the world beyond. Surely, I can keep an eye out and see if news of him reaches me."

"Thank you. I would be most grateful," Rhianna replied. "And if you do find news of him, if there is something you could do to assist him, to help him make it out of the Wilds alive, I will do anything you ask of me in return."

She arched a brow. "That is quite a brave promise to make, girl. You have no idea of the sorts of things I might ask you to do."

Rhianna met the woman's gaze and held it. "I don't care. If my brother is alive, and you can help me find him, help me bring him home safely, I will do a service for you. Any service you require."

The woman regarded Rhianna through narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then nodded. "I will help your brother, if I can." She paused. "And I hope very much that the opportunity will occur. I expect that being owed a favor by Rhianna Cousland will be a great boon, indeed."

"Thank you."

It seemed to take far less time for Morrigan to take them back to the site of the ruined Warden cache than it had to come out the other direction; no doubt, the girl had brought them a longer, more circuitous route, the first time. Morrigan said goodbye to them at the ruins, and from there they made their way through the Wilds toward the king's camp.

"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Alistair said, once they'd left Morrigan far behind.

"Not sure what was a good idea?" Rhianna asked.

"Promising that old woman a favor like that. She strikes me as the kind of person who might ask you to do something very unpleasant, indeed."

"I don't care. Fergus is my only brother. He's the only family I have left. If I can get him back alive, there is nothing she could ask me to do that would not be worth the effort. Nothing."

The look Alistair gave her suggested he was not convinced, but he said no more on the subject, and the companions walked mostly in silence all the way back to camp.

It was only once they had nearly reached the city gates that Rhianna realized she had never given her name - not even her first name, and certainly not Cousland - to either Morrigan or her mother.

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Many thanks to my beta readers Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my wonderful reviewers: Skidney, SwomeeSwan, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and a Guest.

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	13. The duty that cannot be foresworn

_**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Ostagar**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

As they approached the gates that protected the king's camp from whatever lurked out in the Korcari Wilds, Rhianna forced herself to breathe through the disquiet she felt about what was soon to come. Alistair had confirmed that the Joining would be held tonight, as soon as they returned to camp.

She wasn't ready.

She'd thought she was; Rhianna thought she'd resigned herself to this weeks ago. But now that it was here, she realized that all this time she'd held in the back of her mind some hope it wouldn't really happen. She was a bit vague on the details of just how a reprieve might have come to pass, but even so, she hadn't quite come to terms with the reality of becoming a Grey Warden.

There were options. Even now, there were options. It was a bit late to run away, although it could probably be managed. The simplest solution would be to go to Loghain. Yesterday, he'd offered to protect her, and she had no doubt the offer was sincere.

Something about going to him felt . . . wrong, though. Running to him, yet again, as she'd done so many times. In the past, it had always been the right thing to do, but everything was different this time. They weren't lovers anymore; they weren't really even friends now. And she wasn't sure why he had offered. Did he still care about her, or was it just that he hated the Grey Wardens so much he would do anything in his power to thwart them?

No, she didn't want to go to Loghain. Not this time. But that meant she would need to come up with some other way to stop this, if she genuinely wanted way out.

Did she want a way out?

The Grey Wardens made her uncomfortable. There were too many secrets, and what if Loghain was right, and they really were tangled up with Orlais? And of course, there was the possibility the ritual itself would kill her. So many reasons to escape, to find any way to get out of this thing that was being forced upon her.

But then they'd been out in the Wilds and had come upon that injured scout.

"_Who's that? Grey Wardens?"_ he'd said, and something inside of her had shifted. To him, they weren't dark and mysterious, or pawns of the Orlesian empress. To him, they were heroes. Saviors. A welcome sight in that darkspawn infested wilderness. Most likely, they'd saved his life.

What if Duncan was right, and only Grey Wardens could end the Blight? Perhaps they were needed. Perhaps they could do things no one else could do. Certainly, seeing the death and destruction the darkspawn had wrought, even in just that small part of the Wilds, had both terrified her, and inspired her to make certain they didn't destroy the rest of Ferelden.

Perhaps joining the Grey Wardens would be the best way to do that. The best way for her to do something good.

And of course, it had been her father's dying wish.

_You disappoint me, Pup. Won't you do this one . . . last thing for me?_

Those words still stung, as did the knowledge that his last thought of her was disappointment. Didn't he know she would do anything for him? That she loved him so much it was difficult to keep breathing when she remembered he was gone?

The guard on duty nodded to them, and smiled, as they passed back through the wooden gate into the king's camp.

Her father had wanted her to go with Duncan, and join the Wardens, so that's what she would do. She wouldn't run away, or turn to Loghain. She would stay, and become a Grey Warden. Perhaps wherever he was, Father would know that she'd done as he asked. He would know, and he'd be proud of her, this one last time.

‹›‹O›‹›

They arrived to find Duncan and Arcill sitting together and chatting amiably beside the huge fire. Duncan stood, his expression almost a smile.

"You return from the Wilds. Have you been successful? Were you able to collect the blood required, and retrieve the treaties?"

"Yes," Alistair replied. "I suspect we have twice as much blood as we need. And these, as well." Alistair pulled the scrolls out of his pack.

He offered them to Duncan, but the Warden commander waved them away. "You hold on to them for the time being, at least until after the Joining." Duncan turned to Rhianna. "What of your brother? Did you find any sign of him?"

The question caught her off guard, but Duncan's eyes were warm, as though he truly did care. "Yes," she replied. "Dane found this, which belongs to Fergus." Rhianna reached for the silver pendant that hung around her neck, and held it out for Duncan to see. "It was near where Dane found the scouting party, all dead, but thankfully Fergus wasn't among them. It appears as though he might have been able to escape by boat, but Dane couldn't follow his scent past the water's edge, and we had no way to search further. Once we have dealt with the darkspawn here, I intend to go out and find him." She lifted her chin, prepared for Duncan to protest, but he made no argument.

"There may still be Chasind in the area; if they are the ones who found Fergus, I'm sure they'll do whatever they can to help him."

"That's what Morrigan's mother said, as well," Solona said. "That's something else you should know about: the two women we met in the Wilds. We wouldn't have been able to retrieve the scrolls without their help."

"Oh, yes," Alistair drawled. "Morrigan and her mother." He shuddered slightly.

Duncan turned to him with an arched brow. "What's this?"

"We didn't find the scrolls at site of the old Warden cache," Alistair replied. "The chest was empty, and instead we found a . . . woman there. Or perhaps she found us. Anyway, she took us to her mother, who had found the scrolls at some point, and kept them in a drawer for who knows how long." He paused. "They were both very . . . odd. The women, I mean. Not the scrolls."

"Were they Wilder folk?" Duncan asked.

"I don't think so. They might be apostates, hiding from the Chantry out in the swamp."

"Of course they're apostates," Solona said, turning toward Duncan, "but there wasn't anything odd about them. They were extremely helpful, and it sounds as though those scrolls would have been destroyed long ago without Morrigan's mother protecting them all this time." To Alistair, "If anything, you were the one who behaved oddly. You and Daveth. Calling people witches, when they're only trying to help you?"

"You admit they were apostates, and you have no problem with that?" Alistair sounded genuinely baffled. "You know as well as I do the Circle of Magi requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land, and of the Chantry."

"And you know nothing of what it's like to be a mage living in the Circle," Solona replied. "I can hardly blame them for wanting to live their lives outside of Chantry 'law.'"

"It's not-"

"Alistair, I know you were once a templar," Duncan interjected, "but Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; that's all that matters. Now, let us focus on the Joining." He turned to the five recruits assembled before him. "I trust you are all ready to proceed with the ritual?"

Rhianna swallowed and breathed through the fear that had bloomed in her chest anew. All the brave thoughts she'd had as they entered camp fled, and she was scared.

Was she ready?

No. She wasn't ready. She wasn't anywhere near ready for this. How could anyone ever be ready for this?

She kept quiet though. Ready or not, it was surely too late to go anywhere but forward.

Jory, however, did not keep his doubts to himself. "What if we have second thoughts?"

"There are no second thoughts, and there is no turning back." Duncan's voice was firm. "Whether you were conscripted or recruited, you were chosen because you are needed to battle the darkspawn. Now, you must gather your courage for what comes next."

"Courage?" Daveth asked. "Just how much danger are we in?"

"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."

"Are you . . . You're saying this ritual could kill us?" Jory sounded vaguely panicked.

Duncan turned a calm eye on the red-haired knight. "As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. Not all who attempt the ritual will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is it the price we pay for the advantage it gives us over the darkspawn." He paused, and when he continued some of the hard edge had left his voice. "You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive." Duncan turned to Alistair. "I've had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately. Please lead the recruits to the old temple. I will meet you there soon."

With Dane at her side, Rhianna made no complaint as Alistair led them to this "old temple," which turned out to be the place she and Solona had first met him. Everything looked as it had that day, except for the addition of a table that stood near one of the walls. Its surface was empty, though; there was no sign of anything that might be used to perform a ritual.

"The more I hear about this Joining," Jory began, "the less I like it."

Daveth turned toward the taller man. "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth shrugged. "Or maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

"Trying to annoy me? With a ritual that might kill all of us? I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me . . . it just doesn't seem fair."

"And when is life ever fair?" Solona sounded calm. Then again, just a few weeks ago she'd passed the Circle's Harrowing, where she had been face to face with demons in the Fade. It seemed unlikely this Joining could be much worse than that.

"She's right," Arcill agreed. His voice, too, was calm. Relieved, almost. No doubt he would be glad to be cured of the blight sickness that had ravaged his body. "Would you have come if they'd warned you? Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, isn't that right?"

Jory was not placated. "Including sacrificing us?"

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight," Daveth said. "The Grey Wardens have saved the world from darkspawn before. I'd say they know better than anyone what it takes. I figure, if they say this is necessary, then it's necessary." Daveth took a step closer to Jory. "You saw those darkspawn. Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

"Of course I would, but-"

"No buts," Solona interrupted. "The Grey Wardens are not considered heroes for nothing. Isn't that what you wanted? Why you're here? To be a hero. Did you think would all be easy?"

"I . . . no, I didn't think that," Jory barked. "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

"Neither have I," Daveth replied. "So what? Maybe you'll die. Maybe we'll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn, we'll die for sure."

They all turned at the sound of footsteps on the steps: Duncan had arrived. In his hands, he carried a large silver goblet, which he set upon the table.

The people present formed a circle, and Duncan began to speak.

"At last we come to the Joining." He looked at each of them in turn, and held their gaze for a moment before he continued. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank the blood of the darkspawn and mastered its taint."

_Drank the blood of the darkspawn_? That's what this ritual entailed? Rhianna glanced at the chalice and shuddered. It made sense now why Duncan had refused to tell her the truth. How could anyone, ever, agree to this, knowing _that_ is what would be required?

"We . . . we're . . . You mean we're going to drink the blood of those . . . those creatures?" Jory's words echoed Rhianna's own thoughts.

"Yes," Duncan said firmly. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Maker's balls.

Darkspawn blood had nearly killed Dane. He'd been strong enough to withstand it, but just barely, and Dane was one of the biggest, healthiest, strongest mabari she had ever seen. Would Rhianna be strong enough to survive this, as well?

And another thought: did this mean Dane was already a Grey Warden?

Beside her, he gave a low whine. Yes, he was.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint," Alistair explained. "We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

"This is true." Duncan's expression was grim. "Since the beginning, the Grey Wardens have been charged with finding those who are strong enough to attempt the Joining and recruiting them into our ranks, for the good of all."

Again, Duncan passed his eyes across all assembled, meeting the gaze of each of the five recruits in turn. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair cleared his throat, and spoke in a hushed, reverent tone.

"Join us, brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant,  
Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Duncan retrieved the goblet from the table. "Arcill, step forward."

The Avvar glanced back at Rhianna, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Then he walked up to Duncan and took the goblet that was offered.

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," Duncan said. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

Arcill's shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. Then he raised the goblet to his lips and drank deeply.

He handed the goblet back to Duncan.

A few seconds passed and nothing seemed to happen. Then, his body convulsed, just as Dane's had done, and the huge man cried out and doubled over, with a hand to his head as though he were in great pain. His back arched and his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Maker's breath!" Jory swore.

Arcill dropped to his knees and clutched at his throat, and made a horrible choking sound.

"I'm sorry, Arcill," Duncan murmured. "I'm so sorry."

The Avvar collapsed heavily to the ground, still retching. He tried once to push himself up, but it appeared as though all the strength had gone from his arms. He dropped back to the ground, his arms and legs splayed.

His body became completely still.

Maker's blood.

Arcill was dead.

Rhianna reached out and took one of Solona's trembling hands in her own, and the mage wrapped her fingers tightly around Rhianna's.

Duncan turned to the warrior from Redcliffe. "Step forward, Jory."

"But . . ." He backed away, his eyes darting wildly as though looking for a way to escape. "But, I have a wife. A child. Had I known-"

"There is no turning back," Duncan said firmly. He set the goblet on the table, and took a step toward Jory.

"No. I didn't agree to this! You ask too much!" Cringing, Jory drew his sword, and retreated until his back touched one of the ruined walls that enclosed the old temple. "There is no glory in this!"

Duncan said nothing; he merely drew his own weapon: a wickedly curved dagger.

The two men stared at one another for the space of a few breaths. Hopefully Jory would realize this was foolish, and stand down.

But he didn't.

Without any warning, Jory swung his sword.

Duncan did not hesitate. He parried the first strike, and then, in one smooth movement that wasted neither time nor energy, he parried a second blow and drove his dagger into the knight's belly. Jory grunted in pain, his eyes wide with horror as the two men fell into a macabre embrace.

"I am sorry." Duncan's whisper barely carried across the temple. Then, he pulled his dagger out of the other man's body.

With a final grunt, Jory slid to the floor, and a pool of blood spread beneath him.

Duncan wiped his dagger and calmly returned it to its sheath. "We have not yet completed the Joining." He retrieved the goblet from the table. "Rhianna, step forward."

Rhianna glanced first at Solona, whose eyes shone as she gave Rhianna a smile, and her hand a final squeeze, and then at Daveth, whose face was pale, but he, too, smiled. Dane pushed his nose into her hand, and she could feel his fear for her, and his love as well.

_Loghain_._ If I don't survive this, go to Loghain._

He huffed softly in agreement, and then she willed her feet to move, to cross the space between herself and Duncan.

With a deep breath, she took the goblet from Duncan's hands.

How had her life come to this? Even a month ago, she could have never expected to be here. Never expected that all the dreams she'd ever had would be shattered. She would never marry Loghain, or Gauvain. Never be Teyrna of Gwaren, or Highever, or anywhere else. Probably, she would never marry anyone, or have children of her own. Never sit on the Landsmeet, or hold court in the hall of her own castle. She might never see so much as another sunrise, if the blood took her as it had taken Arcill.

Perhaps that wasn't the worst thing that could happen. It would end all her worries, and at least she would not die a coward's death as Jory had, nor have taken her own life. Perhaps her parents would be waiting for her at the Maker's side.

At any rate, no matter what was about to happen, it was far too late to turn back now.

So be it.

She took another ragged breath.

"You are called upon," Duncan intoned, "to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

_Blessed Andraste. Please have mercy upon me._

She brought the cup to her lips, and drank. The thick blood was salty at first, but then a sweetness filled her mouth: the cloying, overpowering, nauseating sweetness of rotting fruit. There was something else, as well, something cold that tingled against her tongue.

She forced herself to swallow, and the goblet slid from her hands. Had she dropped it, or had it been taken from her?

Her head felt heavy, and it was hard to take a breath. Disoriented and dizzy, she put a hand to her face and tried to force the fuzziness from her mind.

"Rhianna." Duncan's voice sounded hollow, and very far away. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."

A burst of light flashed before her eyes, and a spike of pain erupted in her head.

Then, darkness.

‹›‹O›‹›

A cry pierced the air - a deafening roar unlike anything Rhianna had heard before.

Something huge and sinuous swept through the air in front of her, alarmingly close. She feared it would strike her, but at the last second it stopped directly in front of her face.

It was the neck and head of a dragon. An enormous dragon. Teeth like dagger blades poked from its jaws, and its breath was hot and damp on her cheek, and smelled of blood and death and things long buried in the earth. She saw herself reflected in one of its glassy black eyes and struggled not to look away in horror.

She'd seen this dragon before; it was the dragon in her dream all those months ago.

_Blessed Andraste_. This must be the archdemon, and she'd dreamt of it, long before the Grey Wardens had claimed her.

It roared at her again, the sound accompanied by flecks of saliva that spattered her face and her arms. Then, it tried to speak to her. Not with its voice, but inside of her head. Her mind was battered by a hissed jumble of sibilant consonants, nothing that made any sense. Nothing that sounded like any language Rhianna could imagine.

The dragon leaned closer and stared at her with that dark, unblinking eye. Then it tossed its head back, and roared, and again her mind exploded with unintelligible sounds. Even though she could not understand the meaning, there was an urgency - along with anger and frustration - that was easy enough to parse.

He was trying to tell her something. He was desperate to tell her something, but couldn't turn his thoughts into words she could understand.

But what was it he wanted to tell her? What could the archdemon possibly want to say to _her_?

The creature swung his head at her once again, closer than before.

Then, the vision dissolved in a flash of brilliant green and white light.

‹O›

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Many thanks to my fabulous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my wonderful reviewers: Skidney, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and SwomeeSwan.

Also, wishing everyone a Happy Halloween, and a Happy Funalis, as well! (The way I reckon the calendar, Funalis is the equivalent of Halloween, and I was amused that these Funalis chapters fell at exactly the right time of year)!

‹›‹O›‹›


	14. By this time tomorrow

_**1 August, 9:30 Dragon  
**__**Ostagar**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna's head ached, as something warm and wet stroked her hand.

When she opened her eyes, Duncan and Alistair both loomed above her, and Dane was at her side, licking her palm, as she lay on the paved stone of the temple floor.

"It is finished." Duncan's eyes glittered in his unsmiling face. "Welcome, sister."

"Solona?" Rhianna pushed herself into a sitting position. "Where's Solona? Is she all right?" Rhianna dreaded the answer, but she needed to know.

A slight smile appeared at one corner of Duncan's mouth. "Solona will be just fine."

"Thank you, Andraste," Rhianna murmured, as Alistair offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. Her head pounded briefly, but then the pain subsided and she just felt tired, with a gnawing feeling in her stomach, as though it had never been quite this empty before. "And Daveth?"

"He made it, as well." Alistair's face was grim, but his voice sounded relieved. "They'll both be just fine."

Rhianna was skeptical about that. "Fine" hardly seemed the right word for any of this, but she wasn't going to argue the point.

Solona made a soft moan from where she lay on the stone floor nearby, and Rhianna hurried to her side. When the mage opened her eyes, Rhianna gave her a warm smile, and helped her to her feet.

"We made it."

Solona's eyes were bloodshot, and her face ashen. "What about Daveth?"

Before Rhianna could answer, the dark-haired rogue groaned, and Alistair helped him to his feet, as well.

"Oi, my head." Daveth rubbed at his temple with the heel of his hand. "That was . . . not what I expected."

"Did you have dreams?" Alistair asked. "I had terrible dreams after my Joining."

"Yeah, I did," he replied.

"Me, too," Solona said. "I dreamt of . . . I think it was a dragon."

Rhianna glanced at her. "I dreamt of a dragon as well." She didn't mention that it was the same one she'd dreamt of before, all those months ago. "That was the archdemon?"

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "That is the archdemon."

"Nasty bugger," Daveth laughed, but there was a strained note in his voice, and when Rhianna caught his eye, he raised a brow. _What have we gotten ourselves into?_ his expression seemed to say.

"Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining." Alistair stepped forward. "We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us . . . of those who didn't make it this far." Alistair handed each of them a locket. Solona and Daveth tied them around their necks, but Rhianna slipped hers into the pouch at her waist. She wasn't ready yet to fully embrace this new life. For now, she would wear the charm that belonged to her brother. She intended to wear it until she could return it to him, after he came out of the Wilds alive.

"I'm sure you're hungry," Alistair said. "That's one of the things that comes with being a Grey Warden." So, that gnawing feeling in her gut was a side effect of this ritual? How many other surprises were in store for them as a result of drinking darkspawn blood? The memory of it caused her stomach to heave, although it didn't take away the hunger.

_Blessed Andraste, what _have_ I gotten myself into?_

Alistair continued, "I thought I'd take you to meet the rest of the Wardens, where they're camped outside of the city. There'll be food there, as well."

The other Wardens. It made sense, now, that the recruits hadn't been taken to meet them before the Joining. What was the point of introductions, perhaps even friendships, if half of the new recruits were likely to die during the ritual? Why put the other Wardens through that particular brand of suffering?

"I'm game," Daveth said, some of the cheer returning to his voice, and Rhianna nodded her agreement, as well.

"There's something I want to talk about with Duncan," Solona said lightly. "Perhaps I'll be along after a while."

So Rhianna and Daveth accompanied Alistair, as Dane trotted placidly behind.

As they left the king's camp, a sea of people and tents stretched out into the plains behind the city. There were thousands of people - some eight thousand in total, if she remembered correctly. Even though Rhianna had heard the numbers, it was another thing to see them all in one place like this.

The Wardens passed by campsite after campsite, filled with men and women wearing armor, or regular clothes. Some joked and laughed, others were solemn and grim. In the fading light, the warm glow of hundreds of small campfires lit the sky, each fire with a knot of people around it.

So this was war. Rhianna had never seen anything like it, this many people gathered together like this. What a monumental effort it must have been to get them all here, and to keep them sheltered and fed. It seemed impossible that an army of this size would not be able to beat back any number of darkspawn. A trickle of fear ran down her spine to remember that Loghain wasn't certain this vast sea of warriors would be enough to defeat the darkspawn once and for all.

Around one of the fires, a large group of soldiers stood, and sang a song.

"_Your hay it is mow'd and your corn it is reap'd.  
__Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd.  
__Come, boys, come, come, boys, come,  
__And merrily roar out our harvest home"__  
_

Maker. That's right; today was Funalis. Rhianna had completely forgotten about the holiday until just now. There was something fitting about it, though. Funalis was a time for letting go of the past. It was difficult to think of any way to more thoroughly let go of her own past than the ritual she had survived today.

It was also the time to make wishes for the future, but that seemed a bit out of reach at the moment. Especially since the wish she'd made last year - to become Loghain's wife - had not come true, and never would. How stupid she had been, how naive and foolish, imagining the two of them kneeling in the Denerim Cathedral, with the Grand Cleric smiling down upon them as she gave them the Maker's blessing. Rhianna had thrown her bread dolly onto the fire with such certainty that this would be her future, she'd barely bothered to make it a proper wish.

No. No wishes this year. It was just as well she'd forgotten about Funalis for most of the day.

When they arrived at the Grey Wardens' campfire, the new Wardens were given a boisterous welcome by the rest of the group, all of whom were men. Thankfully, though, no one commented about Rhianna's gender. She was tired enough already without having to prove her worth as a warrior. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised, though. When you had to survive drinking darkspawn blood to join the order, surely there was nothing more to be done to prove that you belonged.

Logs had been stretched out on the ground to serve as benches around the fire, and food was shared, and thankfully the other Wardens seemed happy to drink and talk loudly together, without asking a barrage of questions of either of the new recruits. Daveth readily joined in the conversation, seeming to be in remarkably good spirits, while Rhianna sat quietly and enjoyed the hearty meat stew someone thrust into her hands, along with a tankard of ale.

About an hour passed in this way, with eating and drinking and jokes and stories. The other Wardens were a friendly bunch, and seemed to have accepted their new brother and sister with no hesitation.

Not long after the dinner bowls had been cleared away, a familiar voice called out.

"Grey Wardens? How fare you this evening?" Cailan approached the campfire to cheerful greetings from several of the men. He smiled warmly when he spotted Rhianna, and came to sit beside her.

"I understand congratulations are in order. And for you, as well," he added, glancing at Daveth.

"I suppose so." It didn't feel like something to celebrate, but that wasn't what the king wanted to hear. "Thank you," she added, with a smile she hoped looked genuine.

Someone handed Cailan a mug of ale, and he raised it high in the air. "To our newest Grey Wardens! May the darkspawn fall before them, and may bards sing of their deeds for years to come."

A few of the others nodded and drank, but Rhianna sat quietly, unable to raise her glass to those words.

Roland, the older Warden who Rhianna had met on the way into Ostagar, raised his glass and spoke. "And to those who did not make it this far. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten."

Now, Rhianna did raise her glass and drink deeply. The bitter ale cut through the unpleasant taste that lingered in her mouth, but didn't do anything to combat the strangeness she had felt since waking up from the ritual. She felt tingly, almost, as if insects were swarming inside of her, crawling around in her veins. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, exactly, but it made her anxious, as though something wanted her attention, but she didn't know what it was.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

In his tent in the king's camp, Loghain was restless. Now that Duncan had returned to Ostagar, Cailan's patience had run out, and the king insisted that tomorrow they would face the darkspawn on the battlefield. Nothing Loghain said could convince the boy that victory was not a sure thing; it was "Grey Wardens this," and "Grey Wardens that," and "We'll end this blight tomorrow." And most recently, "Did you hear? Rhianna passed their test?"

He tried not to think too hard on that last bit of news. Rhianna was a Grey Warden now. He had hoped she would come to him, agree to let him shelter her from their greedy hands as he had offered, but she hadn't. Something heavy and unpleasant settled in his stomach every time he thought about it, along with a vague hope that perhaps Cailan was mistaken. That this ritual hadn't been performed yet, and there was still some chance of saving Rhianna from it. Damn the Grey Wardens, anyway. What right did they have to claim her? Of course, the same could have been said, once upon a time, about Loghain himself.

A cursory glance at the map that was still unfurled on his desk reminded him of just how inadequate the current battle plan was. Even so, it was truly the best he could come up with, given Cailan's demands. And looking it over again wasn't going to change anything, so, needing to clear his mind for a little while at least, Loghain strode out of the tent.

"Is Cailan inside?" he inquired of the guard in front of the king's tent.

"No, ser. I believe he's gone into the soldiers' camp."

No surprise there; Cailan was in the habit of going out and drinking with his soldiers, or the Grey Wardens. It was a good thing, mostly. It improved morale for the men to feel they knew their king. But tonight, Cailan shouldn't be allowed to drink so much that he wouldn't be in good form during the battle tomorrow.

Especially since he still refused to entertain any plan that didn't involve being on the front lines with the Wardens.

Cailan probably wouldn't appreciate the interference, but it would no doubt be best to go and keep an eye on him, just in case. So, Loghain went out into the camp in search of Cailan. Along the way, he stopped to speak to various people who greeted him. He'd always had a close relationship with the soldiers in his command. As close as he could allow, knowing that he would eventually send them into danger. Tonight, though, he kept the conversations short, wanting to find Cailan.

Fortunately, the king was nothing if not predictable, and Loghain found him in the first place he looked: the Grey Warden campsite.

"Well, well, well!" Cailan said when he saw Loghain approach. "Look who we have here! Have you come to drink the health of two of our new Grey Wardens?"

"Of course," he agreed; there was no point in letting his apprehension show.

His eyes landed on Rhianna, as she sat beside the king, and again, something twisted inside of him.

She looked up at him, and her eyes grew wider, not so much that anyone else would have noticed, but he saw something there, something dark and more than a bit haunted.

It must be true. She really was a Grey Warden now.

He hadn't intended to stay. He had intended to convince Cailan to return with him to camp, and then retreat to the silence of his own tent to study the maps and drink just enough that he might actually be able to sleep tonight. But something about the way Rhianna looked at him made him unwilling to leave.

Not that she looked as though she wanted him to stay; if anything, she looked exhausted and a bit overwhelmed. But he felt drawn to her presence, and sat down beside her.

Just what had they done to her?

Rhianna was the only woman in the company, although Loghain seemed to recall that one of the other recruits was a woman, as well. A mage, from the Circle Tower.

Dane looked up at his mistress and made a noise deep in his throat. Rhianna nodded, and the hound got to his feet and moved the short distance to Loghain's side. Surprised, but pleased, he greeted the hound with firm scratches behind the ears. He had nothing to give him as a treat, but Dane didn't seem to mind. The dog settled himself on his haunches between Loghain and Rhianna, and rested his huge head on one of the teyrn's knees.

Someone put a mug of ale in his hand, and the conversation picked up again from where he had interrupted: some story about another Warden climbing out a window in Jader when his lover's husband had arrived unexpectedly at the inn. Apparently, the Warden had no time to get properly dressed before he jumped into the river below the window, and had to walk all the way home stark naked.

"Ah, but let's be fair. That was many years ago. Riordan eventually settled down and became quite the respectable gentlemen." This from an older Warden with a great, drooping mustache.

"Riordan may have settled down with Leonie," another Warden joked, "but that hardly makes him respectable. Nor, from what I've heard, a gentleman." A round of boisterous laughter followed, and the conversation continued along these lines for a time. Rhianna was quiet as she stared into the fire and occasionally sipped at her ale, although the man at her side - a wiry, dark-haired fellow - took an active role in the conversation.

As Loghain's eyes drifted across the other faces illuminated by the flickering firelight, one of them caught his attention. A young man with dark blonde hair, who laughed easily at the jokes that were being told.

Maker's balls. The eyes were different - brown, rather than blue, and set somewhat closer together - but otherwise, he was the spitting image of Maric at that age. The sweep of his nose, the square jaw and high cheekbones. Even the way he gestured with his hands was reminiscent of Maric.

Loghain glanced at Cailan, and then back at the young Warden. It was difficult to believe anyone could see the two of them next to one another and not realize they were brothers.

Or, rather, half brothers.

This Warden must be Maric's son. What was his name? Albert . . . no, Alistair. Yes, Alistair. That was it. Named after his mother, and then spirited off to Redcliffe, and fostered by Eamon until the boy was sent to the templars. So how had he ended up here? Well, that was obvious, wasn't it? Duncan must have found out, somehow, that the boy was Maric's son, and decided to recruit him into the Wardens.

"So." An older Warden with grey streaks in his hair turned to the new recruits. "How many darkspawn did you see on your foray into the Wilds today?"

"Far too many!" The dark-haired man gave a crooked grin that made everyone laugh, even though it was obvious he was only partly joking. "Really, though, I have no idea," he admitted. "This was the first time I'd see that many darkspawn, and I was a bit too distracted to count."

"Fifty-eight," Rhianna said. "We killed fifty-eight darkspawn today. In about seven hours in the Wilds. We never saw a band larger than twelve, and usually they were traveling in groups of five or six." The Wardens and Cailan seemed surprised at this exact count she provided, but Loghain knew she had always paid attention to those sorts of details, like when she'd given him the exact figures for the Highever Regulars out of her head, the last time he visited Highever.

An image flashed through his mind: Rhianna in a white nightgown, her face pale in the moonlight as she sat with her legs tucked up against her body in the window well of the guest bedroom in Highever Castle. On that day, the taking of a single life had changed her forever.

Tonight, she spoke of killing dozens of darkspawn as though it meant nothing at all.

Another memory, and this one hit him like a punch to the gut: a small girl with his handkerchief wrapped around her arm.

_I don't mind having a scar. All real warriors have scars_.

That small, precious child had become a woman, and now she was, without a doubt, a warrior. Scars and all, and not all of them on her skin.

She didn't deserve this. Then again, no one ever did. His mother hadn't deserved her death. Neither had his father, or Rhianna's parents, and Oren. None of the soldiers here deserved to be throwing their lives against these monsters. That didn't stop any of it from happening.

This felt different, though. Perhaps it was just years of habit that caused him to feel so protective over Rhianna, to wish he could shield her from all of this, as he had tried to shield her from so many dangers in the past. Perhaps it was the intimacy they had shared, once upon a time.

Not that his "protection" had done her any good in the long run, had it? Her parents were dead, her home lost to Howe's treachery, and now she had been forced to join the Grey Wardens, an order with a dark past that promised to lead her into a dark future.

As the conversation moved on, something caught in his mind. What was it she'd just said? The Wilds. They'd gone into the Wilds?

He got her attention with a hand on her knee. "While you were out in the Wilds, did you find any sign of Fergus?"

Her brow furrowed, but then she smiled, as if grateful he had asked the question. "Yes. We found what was left of his scouting party. They were all dead, but thankfully Fergus wasn't among them. Dane followed Fergus' scent away from the site of the battle, to the edge of a sort of lake. I saw signs of a rowboat, so I am praying that he got away by boat, somehow. But we didn't have time to keep searching, and I'd need a boat to go after him anyway. I have to believe he's still alive, though, and once the darkspawn are defeated, I'll go back and find him."

_Once the darkspawn were defeated_.

If Cailan had his way, that would happen tomorrow, but Loghain feared it would be only by the very best of luck any of them would still be alive at the end of the day. He wasn't about to say that to Rhianna, though.

"Fergus knows how to take care of himself out in the woods. If anyone can survive the Wilds, it's your brother."

"That's what I keep telling myself." She gave a weak smile. "And I know it is true." She closed her eyes. "It's difficult not to be scared though." When she opened her eyes, and caught his gaze, her eyes shone in the flickering firelight.

"There's no shame in being scared," he murmured.

"I know." She gave him another grateful smile, and they both turned back to listen to the conversation between the king and the other Wardens.

"This isn't the first scouting report I've heard that indicates there are more darkspawn than we've anticipated," one of the Wardens was saying.

"The horde is growing faster than any of us expected," the older, grey haired Warden said, a frown on his lips.

"I am confident that tomorrow will be the day we send the darkspawn back to the Black City for all time." Cailan's eyes glittered with enthusiasm. "With the Grey Wardens leading the charge, there is no way we will not succeed! We shall defeat them, for once and for all!"

The king sounded younger than his years, like an overeager child. Still, as annoyed as Loghain was with the king's fascination with the Wardens, Cailan was, if nothing else, sincere. The king genuinely cared about Ferelden, and her people. If only he didn't have so many fanciful ideas in his head, straight of out of legends and tales.

How had Maric and Rowan raised a son with so little common sense? Well, Rowan could hardly be held to blame; she died when Cailan was only three. If anything, Loghain needed to take a share of the responsibility. He'd done nearly as much raising of the boy as Maric had.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," the older Warden said, "we must not allow ourselves to become overconfident. The darkspawn are deadly foes, and that our recruits saw as many as they did today in the Wilds does not bode well. If the darkspawn number more than we anticipate, we will have a difficult fight on our hands."

The other Wardens nodded in agreement. At least they took this threat seriously, and weren't all living in Cailan's fantasy world.

"Your modesty does you credit," the king replied, "and," he shot a glance at Loghain, "I have no doubt my trusted advisor would agree with you. So I shall remain optimistic enough for all of us!"

"I think we need a song," one of the younger Wardens suggested.

"Yes," Cailan agreed. "A song would be just the thing!"

A guitar appeared, and its owner began to strum random chords. "What would you like to hear?"

"Do you know the Battle of Ayesleigh?" someone asked.

"Of course I do!" the man grinned. "The Battle of Ayesleigh, it is!"

He played a few more random chords, then launched into the song. His voice was a rich, clear tenor, and cut easily through the night.

_"The wind that stirs their shallow graves_  
_Carries their song across the sands._  
_A song of smoke that stung their eyes,_  
_Of tainted blood that soaked the land._

_In the dawn of the Exalted Age, the Dragon of Slaves awoke._  
_On withered wings, Andoral rose and from the ground he broke._  
_From Hossburg to Antiva, the darkspawn crawled the land._  
_Andoral called them to his side, and the Fourth Blight was at hand._

_Heed our words, hear our cry._  
_The Grey are sworn; in peace we lie._  
_Heed our words, hear our cry._  
_Our names recalled; we cannot die._

_The spread their taint across the plains, and the armies of man rose up._  
_But only the Grey Wardens brought the promise of hope._  
_On the field at Ayesleigh, a hero did stride forth._  
_Proud Garahel, with sword in hand, the killing blow he struck._

_Heed our words, hear our cry._  
_The Grey are sworn; in peace we lie._  
_Heed our words, hear our cry._  
_Our names recalled; we cannot die._

_When darkness comes and swallows light,_  
_Heed our words, and we shall rise._

_We shall rise."_

A hearty round of applause burst forth at the end of the song, and the Warden quickly launched into another, something about a beautiful Chasind girl who lived on the shores of Lake Calenhad. Then, a third song, this one a ballad about the Denerim Faire that every Fereldan learned as a child.

After the third song, he stood, and took a melodramatic bow before tucking the guitar away again.

"Another!" someone shouted. "We want another song!"

"Ah," the singer laughed with a wave of his hands. "Perhaps, but not from me."

"Surely someone else knows a song. Something about Andraste," another suggested.

For a moment, no one spoke, but then Rhianna broke the silence. "I know a song about Andraste." All eyes turned toward her. "It isn't a very happy song, though. It's about her death, and the way she went to face it."

"That sounds appropriate," the older Warden said. "The night before battle is a time for both laughter and apprehension."

Loghain leaned close and rested his hand on her knee. He hadn't heard her voice in so long; nothing would please him more than to hear her sing now.

"Please sing for us, Rhianna."

She looked up at him, her brow softly creased. Then, she nodded. She sat straighter on the log, and cleared her throat, and, after a last sip of ale, began to sing.

_Spirit of the water, soothe away my anger,  
__For I am soon to leave here in great fear and pain.  
__Surround me with thy beauty if it please Thee that I might lose my fear of the flames.__  
_

Her voice flowed effortlessly out into the night, and almost immediately, soldiers from nearby campfires moved closer to listen.

_Spirit of the fire, hear me when I cry,  
__For I am soon to die and leave my people to mourn.  
__Let me burn brightly if it please Thee that they might see my light and be warmed.__  
_

A crowd formed around the campsite, but Rhianna seemed oblivious. She didn't look around as she sang. Her face was calm and free of emotion as she stared into the campfire. The firelight flickered in her eyes, and glinted off her dark hair. Smoke from the fire stung his eyes and Loghain blinked. When he opened them again, he no longer recognized the woman sitting beside him.

_Spirit of the air, lift my essence quietly,  
__So high above this gathering, and to the Maker be borne.  
__Take me to His side if it please Thee that I might spend eternity as His bride.__  
_

As the words of the song rang out in the night air, he realized this woman could be none other than Andraste herself. Why she was here – in a camp of ragtag soldiers, men like himself who were surely unworthy of her presence – was a mystery. But that didn't matter. Worthy or not, Andraste had come to them, and favored them with a song.

He couldn't take his eyes off her face. He yearned to touch her, to run even a single finger across the gleaming perfection of her skin, stroke a lock of her dark hair, but he dared not do anything that might interrupt her glorious song.

_Spirit of the earth, I give my body to thee.  
__Oh let my ashes sacred be.  
__Let the Chant of Light grow if it please Thee for to end our fear and our suffering.__  
_

The final notes of the song faded away into silence, a silence that no one broke for nearly a minute.

Finally, slowly, the soldiers who had come to hear the song wandered away again, returning to whatever they had been doing before being drawn here by Rhianna's song.

_Rhianna's_ song. He shook his head, and silently chided himself for the ridiculous thoughts he's had just a minute before. Because it _had_ been Rhianna who sang, not Andraste.

Andraste? That was even more fanciful than Cailan's notions about the Grey Wardens. Of course the Beloved Prophet had not come down to the campsite, and sang for them. It had been Rhianna all along; she had a beautiful voice, and put a great deal of herself into song, as she always had.

If anything, it was an insult to the real flesh-and-blood woman in front of him to suggest Loghain had felt so moved by someone or something other than Rhianna's own voice.

A conversation had started again amongst the Wardens, although they spoke in quiet tones now. Cailan was silent, his gaze focused on Rhianna. She hadn't moved at all since the song ended, but now something glittered on her cheek: a single tear, and Loghain fought back the urge to reach over and wipe it away. Her expression was one of quiet agony; probably she was remembering her family.

Maker. This must be so hard for her.

She swung herself around in a single, smooth movement, pushed herself up from the log, and began to walk away from the fire. There was something stealthy about her movements, as though she hoped her departure would not be noticed. Apparently, she'd had enough of the Grey Wardens' company for the evening, but after seeing the look on her face, Loghain was loathe to see her walk away alone.

He would go after her. If she didn't want his company, he would leave her alone again, but if there was any chance that he might be able to comfort her, even in some small way, he had to try.

Of course, if he was being honest, he had to admit he felt drawn to her not just for her sake, but for his own sake as well. Listening to her sing had awakened feelings within him that had been only shallowly buried to begin with.

He missed her so much. All throughout the past year he had done everything he knew to convince himself that he was fine without her, and that she was far better off without him. But even if those things were true, it didn't change the fact that he _missed _her. He missed her company, her conversation. Her laughter. The way she joked with him and teased him in ways no one else had dared in years. He missed being told he was "silly." And handsome. And good. He missed the faith she had in him, whether he deserved it or not. Just the few minutes he'd spent with her, yesterday afternoon and again this evening, had reminded him how much he enjoyed just being with her.

He had no right to approach her, not after what he had done. Even so, he would go after her now, and perhaps there would be some small thing he could do to give her even a few minutes of comfort.

Before he could get to his feet, Cailan stood and strode quickly after her.

Damn it! What in the Void was Cailan doing? Rhianna wouldn't want _his_ company, not while she was in pain; she barely knew the man.

But Cailan followed her down the path and caught up with her. He grabbed her shoulders, and turned her to face him. He said something, and Rhianna nodded, but when he spoke again, she shook her head and turned as if she wanted to walk away. Cailan kept a firm grasp on her, though, and said something else. She paused, but then her shoulders sagged as if in resignation, and she nodded. Together, they turned and walked away.

Loghain felt a surge of anger. If he himself had no right to comfort Rhianna Cousland, Cailan had far less than no right to do so. But Loghain could hardly go after them now, without making an uncomfortable scene.

Damn it all to the Void.

He drained his mug, and accepted the refill that was offered. As he drank, rather faster than was proper, he forced himself to listen to the conversation around him, and attempted to push thoughts of Rhianna Cousland far from his mind.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna's song had been beautiful, and very appropriate for the occasion. Cailan could never have imagined she had such a beautiful singing voice. Although, come to think of it, he had heard her sing once before, at his father's wake. This was different though; he hadn't really paid much attention to anything on that day, as he'd stared at the flames dancing atop his father's empty pyre.

Now, Cailan could see that Rhianna was upset. A single tear had rolled down her cheek while she sang, and something inside of him ached to see her suffer. No doubt, she was thinking about the upcoming battle.

He felt a stab of regret at the way things had turned out. She really was a beautiful woman, and he had once cherished the idea of making her his wife. That would never happen now, of course, and it had come as a relief yesterday when they'd spoken and she'd seemed to accept it, especially after the rather tense conversation they'd had on the boat back from Orlais. But she was a Grey Warden now. No doubt, it would be a good life for her; certainly, there was no higher honor.

Yes, everything was turning out splendidly. Rhianna was a Grey Warden, and if they could just finish this business with the darkspawn tomorrow, Cailan could return to Denerim and move ahead with his plan to marry Celene.

He'd been so annoyed that day on the boat, with the things Rhianna had said, but later, he'd realized she was right about some of it. The Landsmeet (and Loghain, especially) might not see how much this would benefit Ferelden, so Cailan would have to be careful how he went about things. Eamon was sure to support him, as would a number of others. As long as he went into the Landsmeet well prepared, things would go smoothly.

He smiled to himself. It really would be perfect. He would return to Denerim after defeating the darkspawn horde, and then he would unite Ferelden and Orlais in a new era of peace and prosperity. It would be the start of a golden age for both countries. And now that Rhianna had joined the Wardens, he didn't even have to feel guilty about her anymore. Perhaps she was disappointed, but Rhianna hadn't been harmed in any way, not really. Surely, this was the best possible outcome for all concerned.

She continued to gaze into the fire, not speaking. She really was almost unbearably lovely, even with her hair chopped off. The memory of her kisses sent a thrill running through him. She'd been so soft, so warm, when he'd held her in his arms. Perhaps . . .

He smiled to himself.

No, he wasn't going to marry her, but there was no reason they couldn't enjoy one another's company while they were here at Ostagar.

Just as he meant to lean close and ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private, she stood, abruptly, and left the campfire.

What was that all about?

Of course, Cailan went after her. He caught up to her before she'd gone more than a few yards, and stopped her, putting his hands gently on her shoulders.

"Rhianna? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she nodded. "I'm just . . . tired."

"It looks like more than that to me." He paused. "Come on. Come back to my tent, and let's have a drink. And talk."

"No." She shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'd be very good company."

"Don't be ridiculous! Come on. Please have a drink with me. We're going to face the darkspawn tomorrow, and who knows what might happen then?"

She hesitated a moment, but then, with a nod of her head, she agreed, as Cailan knew she would.

"All right. But just one drink."

They had gone back to the camp, and he'd shown her inside his tent with a sweep of his arm. For being at war, he thought his tent was very comfortable. Instead of a cot, he'd had an actual bed brought in, and it filled up one corner of the space. There was also a desk, and chairs, and a carpet in the middle of all of it. It was nothing like Loghain's dreary tent, with nothing but a chair and a cot and a desk covered with maps. Just because they had to be here to fight the darkspawn, that was no reason for being unduly uncomfortable.

He poured two glasses of port, and indicated that Rhianna should sit on one of the padded chairs. He pulled his own chair close beside hers.

"You looked unhappy, there by the fire. I expect you're thinking about the battle tomorrow."

"No, actually." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I was thinking about my family. About how much I miss my parents. And I'm so worried about my brother. We found his scouting party today, murdered in the Wilds, but I think he managed to escape."

"Well, that's wonderful news!" Oh. Wait. Maybe that wasn't quite the right thing to say. "I mean, it's horrible hearing that the scouting party was killed. But for Fergus to still be alive, that part would be wonderful, wouldn't it?"

One corner of her mouth turned up, slightly. "Yes. That part would be wonderful. I just wish I knew where he was. Knew for certain he was safe." She took a sip from her glass. Well, more than a sip. She drank more than half of it all at once.

"I . . . well, I do know what it feels like to miss one's family," he offered. "I still miss my father at times. I've missed him rather a lot lately, in fact. I wouldn't have minded having him here, if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean. I still miss him, too. So much."

"That's right. Sometimes I forget you knew him as well as you did. Can I tell you something silly?"

"All right."

"There were times when I thought maybe he intended to marry you, when you got old enough. Of course, then he disappeared at sea. But before that happened, I used to wonder about it. Well, Anora was the one who suggested it first, I think."

Oh, but maybe he shouldn't have mentioned that. She might not want to have been reminded that she was very nearly going to be queen.

Or maybe it would be best to talk about it, and get it out of the way for once and for all.

"Look," Cailan hurried to add, feeling rather inexplicably awkward. "I . . . well, I hope that you're not disappointed."

"Disappointed? About what? About not marrying your father?"

"No. Disappointed about us. You and I. That we're not going to be married."

"Oh. That." She almost sounded amused, and took another sip of her drink. A more normal sip, this time. "No, I'm fine about that, Cailan. I do think it will be better for everyone if you stay married to Anora, though."

"Yes, I know. You said that before, and I have thought about it. I truly have. I'm going to be careful about things, I promise. Anyway," he added, wanting to change the subject, "for now we have the darkspawn to occupy us. Until tomorrow, at any rate."

"You really think we can defeat them tomorrow? Loghain told me he's not sure there are enough soldiers here, not if the horde has grown larger. Perhaps it would be best to wait until Eamon's soldiers can arrive."

"Loghain." Cailan rolled his eyes. "He always looks for the worst in every situation, doesn't he? I don't blame him. It's just the way he is, and sometimes it's a good thing. I know that. But sometimes - this time - he's taking it too far. We have the Grey Wardens here - including you, now - and more soldiers have been arriving from all across Ferelden every day. We will end the Blight right here, assuming it even is a blight."

To be honest, he was tired of talking about darkspawn. It felt as though he'd done nothing _but_ talk about darkspawn over the past few months, especially with Loghain. And now that he was here with Rhianna, he could think of a hundred things he would rather be doing. She was so pretty, her lips parted and slightly stained by the port, and it had felt so good to kiss her.

No, he was done with talking, for the time being anyway.

He leaned forward, and put his hand on her knee.

"You should listen to what Loghain says," she insisted, "and take his advice. He's got years and years of experience leading the army."

Cailan sighed. "Yes, but all of that was fighting against other humans. He doesn't know much of anything about fighting darkspawn, and that's where the Grey Wardens come in. Trust me, Rhianna. I know what I'm doing."

She didn't say anything. Her brow furrowed, and she looked down his hand, as if surprised she hadn't noticed it before.

He squeezed gently. "Rhianna. I . . . well, I was wondering. Would you like to spend the night with me?"

"What?" She blinked, twice, and her brow furrowed more deeply.

"It's a simple question," Cailan laughed. "Stay the night with me, Rhianna. Please. We're going into battle soon. Surely, no one would fault us for enjoying ourselves while we can. I might be dead by this time tomorrow." He squeezed her leg again.

She stood. "No, Cailan. I . . . I can't."

"Of course you can." He stood up and grasped her shoulders. "It will be easy. Just say yes." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She didn't kiss him in return, but she didn't pull away, either. He stepped even closer, so he could whisper in her ear.

"Please, Rhianna. You're so beautiful, and I want you so much. I'll make you feel good. I promise." He kissed her neck, just below her ear, and moved one of his arms around her waist to pull her close. Her body tensed, and he thought she would to yield to him and fall into his arms, but then she brought one of her hands up and placed it firmly on his chest, to push him away.

"No, Cailan. I . . . I need to go."

Before he could say anything else, she pushed the half-empty glass of port into one of his hands, and left the tent.

Damn. What had he said that upset her? He'd been friendly, and charming, and she'd left nonetheless. Well, now that he thought about it, Rhianna had always been a bit difficult to manage. In fact, he really couldn't think of any other woman who had ever said no to him. Of course, it was possible she just wasn't in the mood. She had lost her family, after all.

Be that as it may, he wasn't in the mood to spend the rest of the night alone. Fortunately, there were others here who would be more than happy to spend the night in his bed. He went to his desk, and penned a quick note.

_"Dear Catrin . . ." _

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

"What?" Had Rhianna misheard him, or had Cailan just asked her to spend the night?

Maker's balls. She'd thought he was being kind, but apparently he'd just pretended to be concerned about her, and her family, so he could attempt to seduce her.

Cailan laughed. "It's a simple question. Stay the night with me, Rhianna. Please. We're going into battle tomorrow. Surely, no one would fault us for enjoying ourselves while we can."

The hand he had placed on her knee kneaded her flesh, and she glanced down to see that a rash of tiny red spots crawled up his wrist. He was being gentle, but even so, his touch made her skin crawl.

She stood, quickly. "No, Cailan. I . . . I can't."

"Of course you can." He stood as well, and grabbed her by the shoulders, as he had back by the campfire. She froze, hoping she wouldn't have to defend herself more forcefully. She'd never had to do that with Cailan before, but there was a first time for everything. She'd never forgotten what Vaughan had done to her, and was as determined as ever that no man would ever touch her again in a way she did not want. Not even the king.

"It will be easy," he was saying. "Just say yes." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, but before she could react, he whispered, "Please, Rhianna. You're so beautiful, and I want you so much. I'll make you feel good. I promise." He kissed her, just below her ear, and moved one of his arms around her waist, to pull her close. His breath was warm against her neck, and her body began to respond to him with something other than disgust. When he pressed his lips against the skin of her neck, warmth flooded through her.

Perhaps she should stay. He was right; they were going to war. Chances are she would be dead by this time tomorrow. So why shouldn't she do what she wanted? There was no doubt her body wanted this contact, wanted to be held, to be kissed, to be caressed.

But this wasn't right. She wanted to be close to someone, yes. But not to Cailan.

She closed her eyes briefly, and thought back to the campfire. The way Loghain had looked when sat beside her. The warmth of his fingers on her leg. The firelight dancing in his eyes.

It wasn't Cailan she wanted. It was Loghain. After all this time, she still wanted Loghain. She would always want Loghain. For the rest of her life, she would never stop wanting Loghain.

Maker help her.

Maybe he didn't want her. Maybe she would spend the rest of her life wanting a man who had decided she simply wasn't enough. But right now, tonight, she wasn't willing to settle for someone else. Not while there was still a chance of being with the man she really wanted. The man whose tent was just a few yards away. Her feet could take her there in less than a minute. Perhaps he didn't love her, but he had wanted her once, and maybe he would want her again, even if only for tonight.

And even if he didn't, she didn't want Cailan. No part of her had ever wanted Cailan.

She brought one of her hands up and placed it firmly on his chest, and pushed him away. "No, Cailan. I . . . I need to go." Before he could try and convince her to stay, she pushed the half-empty glass of port into one of his hands, and hurried out of the tent.

Once outside, she took a moment to catch her breath. Did she really mean to do this? To go to Loghain right now? What would she say? "Make love to me?" The way he'd looked at her while she sang . . . maybe . . . just maybe he still wanted her.

And what if he said no? Would she beg?

No. Not that. She wouldn't beg. She would never beg. But she would go to him, and if he pushed her away, she would ask him why. Ask him to tell her, finally, what had made him change his mind about her, after saying he wanted to marry her. Ask him what she had done to drive him away.

She took a deep breath, and crossed over to the guard outside Loghain's tent. "Is the teyrn inside?" she asked.

"No, ser. I think he's still out in the soldiers' camp."

Rhianna felt all the air go out of her. She'd gathered all of her resolve to seek him out, and he wasn't even here. She felt like both laughing and crying, but instead forced her expression to remain neutral.

"Oh," she said. "Well, thank you."

"Would you like me to give him a message for you?"

"Yes. Please tell him . . ."

What? Please tell him what? What message could she leave that would convey even a fraction of her reasons for coming? And even if she could leave such a message, she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She needed to do this face to face. Find out if he wanted her, and if he didn't, what she had done to drive him away.

"Never mind. There's no message. I'll just try and speak with him tomorrow."

Feeling adrift, and lonelier than before, she decided to go back to the campfire, with the rest of the Wardens. Perhaps Loghain was still there, and she could ask him if he would talk to her privately. As she approached the fire, however, she could see that Loghain was gone, as was Dane. Daveth was still there, and Alistair, but she wasn't in the mood for the rest of the Wardens. Not that they hadn't been kind to her, but the thought of making conversation with people she barely knew was just too much effort right now.

She returned to the king's camp, and as she approached the tents the Warden recruits had been given, a light flickering inside Duncan's tent told her that he was there. She thought about visiting him, just to hear a friendly voice, but quickly rejected the idea. She didn't really want to have to make conversation with him, either.

The tent she shared with Solona was empty. That was odd. Solona had never joined them at the campfire, and if she wasn't here, then where was she? Maybe she'd gone to find her cousins.

She felt the familiar pressure on her mind a moment before Dane nosed his way through the tent flap. That, at least, cheered her, and she greeted him warmly, scratching his ears and allowing him to lick her face. As long as she had Dane, she would never truly be alone. And tomorrow she would find Loghain, and talk to him. One way or the other, she would find out for certain how he felt.

Rhianna lay on her cot, and Dane lay on the ground beside her. Within just a few minutes, they were both sound asleep.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Not long after Rhianna left, Loghain had finished the ale and bid the Wardens good night. They were friendly enough, but he had no interest in making small talk.

He took a long route back to camp, enjoying the anonymity of darkness to wander unrecognized, and be left to his own thoughts. Here and there, voices were raised in song - the harvest song traditional on Funalis.

Balls. Today was Funalis, wasn't it? He'd forgotten all about it. He usually enjoyed the holiday, which offered a chance to unburden oneself of the mistakes of the past year, and form good intentions - no matter how short lived they would prove - for the year ahead.

His good intentions this time last year had proven short lived indeed. Standing at the bonfire in the market square, he'd tossed his dolly on the fire and wished for one thing: to marry the woman at his side.

No, he didn't want to think about Rhianna. Not now, not tonight. He wanted to think of anything _but_ her. Except the memory of her face - haunted and worn, dark circles beneath her eyes - kept returning. He still cared about her, perhaps as much as he ever had. That didn't mean anything had changed. There was no future for them - certainly not now that she'd joined the Grey Wardens - but he couldn't deny that he wanted her.

What if she still wanted him, the way she once had? The way she had last year on Funalis, when she'd offered herself to him in the library of Highever House. And later, the evening they'd spent at Fort Drakon.

Tonight, there had been something in her eyes when they'd spoken. Not desire, no, but a warmth that reminded him of the way things had been between them . . . before. Before everything fell apart. And they had been good together, in that way. He had given her pleasure, and she had most assuredly given him pleasure. Blessed Andraste, just the thought of that night was enough to bring him into a state of arousal.

Would it be so wrong to lay with her, even if it was just one last time?

They were going into battle. Chances are, he would be dead by this time tomorrow.

Either way, there was no harm in talking to her. Even if talking was all they ended up doing.

His mind made up, he returned to the king's camp. If he wasn't mistaken, she was sharing a tent with one of the other recruits, near where Duncan had his headquarters.

As he passed by Cailan's tent, something caught his attention. It looked as though only a single candle was lit. This was unusual. Was the king still awake; it was past midnight, after all. Perhaps Loghain would make one last attempt to reason with the boy, and convince him that the battle he had planned for the morrow was not a good idea.

As he approached the tent, the king's guard put a hand up to stop him. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but King Cailan asked not to be disturbed."

"I just want to speak with him briefly," Loghain replied.

"The king was quite clear." The man's tone was apologetic. "He was not to be disturbed. Not by anyone. He's . . ." The guard took a quick breath. "He's . . . entertaining company, my lord."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. Entertaining company? That meant a woman.

"Who is he with?"

"I . . . I'm not sure it's my place to say?"

"Who?"

"I don't know her name, Commander. A woman with dark hair. Very pretty. Rather distinctive green eyes."

Maker's balls.

Dark hair and green eyes?

Rhianna. It had to be Rhianna.

They'd left the campfire together. Cailan must have asked her to stay the night with him.

And she had agreed.

He spun on his heel and crossed to his own tent. Without a word to his guard, he pushed his way past the tent flap, and sat heavily on the cot, vaguely aware of the creaking sound it made in protest.

Rhianna. And Cailan. He would never have thought such a thing possible. Rhianna had always been kind about the king, but it was obvious she had never particularly liked him, nor had she approved of his extramarital activities. The girl Loghain had known once upon a time would have never lain with Cailan.

But a year is plenty of time for a person to change. It appeared Rhianna had done just that. No doubt, Loghain himself was as much to blame as anyone, but that hardly excused her behavior, nor did it make it any easier for him to accept.

Was this the first time? A thought came into his head unbidden: Cailan's absurd story about Rhianna falling in love with some Orlesian lord. What if that had been a smokescreen, not for Cailan to hide his affair with a woman from Orlais, but to hide the fact that Cailan had started up something with Rhianna?

Was such a thing even possible?

The king had visited Highever not long after last year's Landsmeet. By that time, Loghain had returned to Gwaren, distracted by his own troubles, and hadn't spared much of a thought for the king's activities.

Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to be so unobservant.

Either way, it hardly mattered whether they had started this thing months ago, or if tonight was the first time she lay in his arms. Maker's balls. Rhianna and Cailan? His stomach churned.

Of course, the thought of Rhianna with any other man was bad enough, but it wasn't fair of him to be angry about that. After all, he could hardly expect her to remain faithful to the memory of a man who'd abandoned her. He'd expected that eventually word would come to him that she'd married. Nathaniel Howe, perhaps, or one of Gallagher Wulff's boys, or maybe one of the Vaels from Starkhaven. It would still have hurt, but this? This was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. The woman he loved and the man who was married to his own daughter. And not just that; hadn't Anora and Rhianna been friends? This was a betrayal of just about everything the Rhianna he'd once known had stood for.

Fighting back his anger, and something even darker that was obviously jealousy, he tugged at his shirt, to free it from his trousers. As he pulled it over his head, it got caught on his pendant, and he had to yank it free.

He tossed the shirt on the floor and turned his attention to the silver pendant. A turtle, with Alamarri knot work on the shell, and an inscription underneath.

_Be safe. Love, Rhianna_

The gift she had given him before he left on his voyage to search for Maric. Since that day, he had only taken it off two times, when its leather thong had worn through and needed to be replaced. Even after he had walked away from her, he continued to wear it. It made him feel safe, and loved, in spite of the fact he clearly deserved neither of those things.

Now, the thought of it disgusted him. The thought of wearing her gift around his neck made his stomach lurch, knowing she was just a few yards away, in the arms of the king.

Pulling the dagger from his boot, he slit the leather strap, and the pendant dropped lightly into his lap.

He looked at it, and turned it over to read the inscription one last time.

_Be safe. Love, Rhianna_

Rage welled up inside of him, and this time he didn't even try to fight it. The words she'd had inscribed meant nothing now. Less than nothing. All the history he had with Rhianna, so many years as her friend and then, far too briefly, as her lover, and it was all gone, destroyed in a single moment.

Anything he and Rhianna had ever shared was over, well and truly over, and all of it meant nothing at all now.

Furious, he threw the pendant aside, and it landed with a soft _pish_ in one corner of his tent.

His head ached, and his vision grew blurry.

Damn it. His hands clenched into fists, and he pounded them down on the cot. Another surge of fury, but this one directed at himself.

Because he wished Rhianna were here with him now. In spite of his anger, and disgust, more than anything, he wished she were here. Even if she no longer wanted him, even if she'd become the sort of woman to lay with the husband of a friend, just the sound of her voice would have cheered him. Would have made him feel for a moment as though his life were constructed of something more than brokenness and disaster and loneliness.

Clearly, it was not meant to be. And what a pathetic excuse of a man he was, that he could still want her, even now.

Forcing his fists to unclench, he laid down on the cot.

He was too old for this. Too old for any of this. For the darkspawn, for this war, for these feelings he had for Rhianna. To think that he had loved her, had nearly married her.

And now she was in the arms of another man, only a few yards from where he lay.

Surely, this was a sign from the Maker that Loghain's time had come. Perhaps the darkspawn would prove to be his salvation. To die in battle, a hero's death, was better than he deserved.

But if death is what came for him by this time tomorrow, he would welcome it.

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Many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair, Sehnsuchttraum, and Amanda Kitswell, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: Skidney, Guardian1165, Tyrannosaurustex, Milly-finalfantasy, SwomeeSwan, Arsinoe de Blassenville.

"The Battle of Ayesleigh," is a combination of lyrics from the Codex, and additional verses written by me. Sooner or later, I'll do a recording of it, but it wasn't finished in time to be released along with this chapter. There is, however, a recording of "Spirits," which can be found (along with "Harvest Home" and "Lakes of Calenhad") by following the "Extras" link on my profile.

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